


Timestamps: We Had an Appointment

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Always the End of the World [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of sequel timestamps for the story <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/109550">It's Always the End of the World Somewhere.</a> Each chapter is an individual timestamp, so this isn't meant to read as a continuous story.</p><p>Other pairings: Sam/Jess, John/Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean and Castiel aren't dating

**Author's Note:**

> These were previously archived on my [dreamwidth](http://scaramouche.dreamwidth.org/287699.html).

They aren’t dating.  
  
That’s what Dean finds himself saying over and over, with various levels of embarrassment and/or irritation depending on who’s doing the asking. He’s lost count at this point, having gone through Sam, Mom, Jo, Isaac, Victor, Ellen... It’s understandable that they’d have seen the tentative reforging of a friendship between him and Cas and jump to the obvious conclusion, but no. They’re not dating.  
  
“Why not?” Jo had asked. “You obviously like him, and from what you say it sounds like he likes you back, so what’s the problem?”  
  
Sam had immediately gone squinty-eyed and worried. “It’s not Dad, is it? Is he still giving you a hard time about what happened with the team? Oh my god. Don’t worry, we’ll totally figure something out – hey, what’s wrong with you, I just want to help!”  
  
Pamela had brushed past Dean in between classes. “Any time you boys want to liven things up, I’d be happy to help. Welcome to the Rainbow Express, tiger.”  
  
Crowley had cornered Dean at the lockers, whispering, “Cassy likes a particular brand of lube, I can get some for you for—” though he’d cut himself off when Dean threatened to deck him.  
  
Then there’s Mom. She remembers Cas from back then, how he’d used to come by the house all polite and friendly despite being a weirdo. She remembers when that changed, though she’d never said anything to Dean about it outright.  
  
 _This_  time she’d gone, “Do whatever makes you happy, Dean,” which is the best and the worst thing she could’ve said. It’s pretty similar to what she’d told him after he’d gotten into that fight at school – the first he’d had in ages – though she’d waited until Dad was done reaming him out and then pulled him aside afterward for the hug and the platitude.  
  
 _Do whatever makes you happy._  Which sounds simple except that he really can’t say he’s happy about the questions and the assumptions and sly gazes whenever anyone thinks he’s not looking. He can ignore most of them, sure – Bela’s snide comments get an eyeroll at most – but, dammit, it’s like he’s standing in the middle of a falling house of cards and doesn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved, so how the hell can he give anyone answers he doesn’t have for himself?  
  
There’s Cas, though.  
  
Cas, who smiles at him now, who goes to and from school with him whenever they can, who opens the door for him without question whenever Dean drops by his house.  
  
“You okay?” Cas asks, after one such long day. They’re in his den, the TV on to some stupid show and the room smelling like cigarettes despite Cas’ spraying it with air freshener. Their homework (mostly Cas’ homework, really) is spread out on the low table and they’re sitting on the floor together, because this is what they do now.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean answers, “It’s nothing, it’s just...” Cas is watching him closely, listening, and good god Dean hasn’t had this for so long he can barely remember what it’s like to not have to lie. “I’m tired. My suspension’s under review and I don’t know whether I want to fight it or not.”  
  
Cas frowns. He takes out a piece of paper and puts a pencil to it in drawing a table with a column each for Pros and Cons. He’s frowning, like this means more to him than homework or TV or those stupid things he smokes.  
  
“You don’t have to...” Dean starts.  
  
“Maybe.” Cas puts his pencil down once the table’s done and turns his full attention to Dean. “But I want to. If you’d let me.”  
  
Dean hesitates. Of course he does, half of the stuff rattling around his head is  _because_  of Cas and he doesn’t him to get the wrong idea, like this is his fault or whatever. It’s just that Dean thought he knew who he was and what he wanted, and now he doesn’t know a freaking thing.   
  
The best Dean can come up with is, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”  
  
Cas looks confused, and Dean does his damned best not to think about kissing him because he’s been so very good about that so far. “About football?” Cas ventures.  
  
“That, too.” Dean shrugs helplessly. “About a lot of things but, yeah. I mean. I don’t want to be drag, we’re supposed to be studying, I know that’s important—”  
  
“You’re more important.” Cas says it like it’s no big deal, like they’d not been barely acknowledging each other’s orbits until a few weeks ago. After a moment Cas flushes a little and drops his gaze self-consciously. “You are. If I can help you with anything, I’d be glad.”  
  
That’s what they’ve been doing, isn’t it? Slowly but steadily carving new places for each other in their lives inch by inch, story by story, one day a time, because if there are few worthwhile things that belong to Dean, this would be one of them.   
  
“Okay,” Dean says, “We can start with the Pros, I guess.” Cas nods and moves closer to his side, ready to listen and challenge and commiserate. They’re getting better at that; Cas hadn’t turned away when Dean told him about the teammates he’s sorry to have left behind, and Dean hadn’t blinked when Cas told  _him_  about how guilty he feels about where he currently stands with Anna, among a long list of other things.  
  
They do this for each other now.  
  
But they’re not dating.


	2. New lunchtime habits

Dean knows that things aren’t the same anymore, but even he’s surprised when, after classes break for lunch, Walt walks past and shoves him towards the lockers. It’s only because Dean hadn’t seen it coming that he takes it, though he only hits metal doors hard enough that anyone glancing their way would assume it’s him being clumsy.   
  
So Dean skids a little against the floor to regain his footing, blinking with bewilderment because seriously, Walt,  _seriously_? And does not otherwise react.  
  
Though it doesn’t matter, because Cas appears out of nowhere like a goddamn ninja, blocks Walt’s way with a broad smile and says, “Hello! It has not escaped my notice that you are in need of help with that slightly off center of gravity of yours. Would you like some assistance?”  
  
It’s not the snappiest of comments but Cas doesn’t live for punchlines. Cas lives to fuck with people’s heads, which he’s managed to succeed in because Walt just stares at him like has no idea what language Cas is speaking, and then carefully starts walking away. And because Cas  _really_ likes fucking with people, he follows Walt for a couple of yards, staying close at his shoulder and staring at him silently, until Walt picks up his speed and bolts.  
  
Cas is such a weirdo.  
  
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Dean says later, once they’ve found a quiet spot on an outside staircase to eat their lunch. It would be warmer in the cafeteria, but Dean likes how not stuffy Cas’ favorite spots are. “It’s not a big deal. That’s how guys say hi. Everyone likes a little friendly violence.”  
  
Cas rolls his eyes, even while he picks through his lunch bag. “I am allowed to insult your intelligence, right?”  
  
“All the time,” Dean laughs, “But. I’m serious, Cas, it’s really is no big deal. Walt’s just annoyed with the... You know, with me coming back to the team soon. I’ll be kicking his ass out there soon enough, you’ll see.”  
  
“That’s not the point,” Cas says, almost gritting his teeth. “You’re giving them a second go because you feel responsible towards them, the team, the school. The least they can do is treat that decision with the respect it deserves. Anything less would be appalling.”  
  
Dean feels a flush of... something. Not embarrassment. Pride, maybe? Confusion that Cas feels that way? “You could argue that I need them more than they need me.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” Cas drops an apple into his hand. The chill in the air has brought a pink flush to his pale cheeks. “Start eating. You need your nutrition.”  
  
That makes it Dean’s turn to roll his eyes, which he does. “Jesus Christ, you’re bossy,” he says, though he takes the apple and bites into it. Cas just smiles as if it’s the best compliment in the world.


	3. Game night with Sam and Jess (and Cas)

Sam can’t understand it. “How can Cas not be coming? It’s your first game back, he’s got to come!”  
  
“He’s not interested,” Dean replies distantly, distracted with retying his shoelaces.   
  
It’s bad enough that Cas isn’t going to be there for Dean’s comeback, but what’s really getting Sam’s goat is that Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just muttering at his shoes and, when that’s done, standing up and calmly stretching.   
  
“But…” Sam bites his lip. “Doesn’t he know that this is important to you?”  
  
“Nahhhh,” Dean drawls, suddenly grabbing Sam to mess his hair. “I got you, don’t I? And besides…” He winks. “I’ve got a  _lot_  of frustration to work off. The other team won’t know what hit ‘em.”  
  
It takes Sam a moment to realize what he’s talking about. “Eww.”  
  
But Dean’s flippant attitude only makes Sam want to dig his heels in harder. It’s such a weird thing because Sam  _likes_  Cas – despite his occasional moodiness and penchant for sarcasm he’s actually pretty cool – and Dean’s been really... well, nicer isn’t the right word, but  _easier_ , sort of, since they’d patched up whatever it was that went down between them.   
  
That said, friends should support friends. Providing moral support during competitive events is, like,  _basic_.  
  
“You keep making that face,” Dean warns, “It’s gonna get stuck like that.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.” Sam will stop complaining but he won’t stop feeling angry on Dean’s behalf.  _Someone_  has to be.   
  
But then, after they’ve all gone to the school and Sam has gotten permission from Mom and Dad to sit with Jess instead of with them, Cas  _does_ show up. He’s late because the game’s well under way, and Sam wouldn’t have seen him at all if it weren’t for Jess’ saying, “Isn’t that your friend?”   
  
Sam cranes his neck and sure enough, Cas is right there, partially hidden in the shadow of the stands, looking miserable and out-of-place and all other awkward things that Sam knows all-too-well.  
  
“Hey! Hey, Cas!” Sam waves. Cas sees him and nods, but makes no move to approach. Sam glances at Jess, and when she nods he calls out, “Come sit with us!”  
  
Sam’s definitely grinning by the time Cas has made his way up the steps to them. He still looks like he’d rather be anywhere but there – which makes the fact that he’s there  _anyway_  all the better. Sam cheers particularly loudly at the next play, and shoves at Cas warmly when he sits down next to them.  
  
“You came!” Sam exclaims. “Dean said you wouldn’t.”  
  
“I didn’t want to get his hopes up,” Cas replies. He’s pulled his hood low over his forehead, his whole body stiff and exuding discomfort. “Dean knows I dislike social events like these.” He manages a smile, though. “Hello, Jess.”  
  
“Hi!” Jess says. “It’s pretty slow going at the moment. They’re not giving Dean any major plays for now but that’s understandable.”  
  
“She’s more into this than I am,” Sam confesses, which makes Jess laugh and punch his arm.  
  
They settle like that, the three of them together. Cas doesn’t seem to mind being a third wheel, sitting quietly and frowning at the field as he – Sam assumes – tries to make sense of what’s happening.   
  
“Are you wearing...” Sam squints at Cas. “Isn’t that Dean’s?”  
  
Cas looks down at the sleeves of his hoodie. The Zep insignia should have been an immediate giveaway. “Yes. He said I could have it because it didn’t suit him or something.”   
  
Sam glances at at the field, spotting Dean easily where he’s trotting backwards and shouting with his arms out. “And here he keeps going on and on about how you guys aren’t...”  
  
“We aren’t,” Cas says. He touches Sam’s arm, waiting until Sam looks him in the eye. “Dean wouldn’t lie to you about that. We aren’t.”  
  
“But...” Sam frowns. “Why?”  
  
Cas glances from Sam to Jess to contemplatively. “Why aren’t the both  _you_?”  
  
Sam sputters. He doesn’t dare look at Jess but he hears her laugh under her breath, which is not a bad sound even if it makes Sam feel like his stomach’s jumped up into his chest. Sam mutters, “Geez, Cas, we’re just getting to be friends first.”  
  
“Precisely.” Cas leans back and turns a lazy eye back towards the field. For what it’s worth, Dean’s hoodie really does look better on Cas. “Explain to me what is going on. This game is far too technical.”  
  
Sam shakes his head. “Mostly I just cheer when people do. And when Dean looks like he’s having fun.”  
  
Cas hums thoughtfully. “I think I can do that.”   
  
Despite the near-perpetual frown, Cas eventually gets into it, clapping when the atmosphere is begs for it and cursing whenever anyone tackles or otherwise harasses Dean in any way. Jess is pretty much the loudest of three of them, her sharp eyes taking every detail – which is why, yet again, she’s the one who later nudges at Sam and says, “Hey, Dean’s spotted us.”   
  
Sam shoots his arms up straight in the air automatically, not caring that there’s nothing else going on. It takes a second, but Sam manages to sight Dean and knows, even from clear across the field and with a helmet on, that his brother has broken into a grin.  
  
Cas tries shrink into his hoodie, even when Sam slings an arm around his shoulder and squeezes.


	4. History club competition, part 1

It says a lot that Dean’s only critical comment is, “This is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever done.”   
  
To which Castiel replies, “You’re not  _doing_  anything, Dean. You’re just going to sit in the audience and be supportive.” He shoots a warning glance at Dean, who’s sprawled next to him in the car. “I am serious, Dean. You promised to behave.”  
  
“Yadda yadda, yeah.” Dean smiles, a flash of white teeth that reminds Castiel that, chiding aside, he’s lucky that Dean’s here at all.   
  
Castiel’s been talking about Regionals for a while so of course Dean knows all about it. Dean knows about the stress of preparation, about how Jo’s been working so hard as to run herself ragged, about how Tamara’s been on edge for weeks because their school’s chapter has only ever made it to State level and this is their last chance before they graduate.   
  
Which is why it’s hilarious when Tamara turns around in her seat and says, “Cas is just nervous.” Mr. Singer is driving the MPV, grumbling under his breath at the traffic, and Jo is riding shotgun to him and sorting through her cue cards. “He always gets extra bitchy during competition time.”  
  
“I do not,” Castiel protests. Then he shuts up, because Dean’s hand lands gently on his forearm, a grounding presence that brings to sharp awareness that Castiel is indeed nervous.  
  
“You’re practically vibrating,” Dean says.   
  
Castiel shrugs. “We have planned the public speaking portion down to the finest detail, and I believe we’ve all done our parts the best to our abilities. But you’re right. The anxiety is there anyway. I suppose this is how you feel before a big game?”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean stretches, the movement powerful and relaxed, and Castiel wishes he could take some of that calmness into himself. “Everyone’s got their pre-match rituals. Turning in circles, touching a lucky charm, humming a song. I don’t have one myself, but I like to peek out just before, see if I can find my...” He trails off, glancing at Castiel uncertainly.  
  
“Your parents,” Castiel finishes for him. “Yes, of course. It’s all right, Dean, my father never attends these things.”  
  
“But you also always invite him.” Dean makes a face that Castiel doesn’t quite like. “Just in  _case_.”  
  
“Don’t go there, Dean.” Castiel turns towards the window. “We have arrived.”  
  
“Aww, you’ll do fine.” Dean’s hand slides down Castiel’s forearm, almost timidly, and then his fingers are twining between Castiel’s.   
  
Castiel doesn’t see this happen. He is studying the building outside – or, at least, pretending to study the building outside, because there is the risk that the hand clasping his own is an illusion his stressed out mind has come up with, and if he looks at it then it might disappear.   
  
“You heard me, Cas?” Dean says.  
  
He doesn’t have to be here. Castiel told Dean that he really, honestly, doesn’t have to come because it’d bore him to tears, there’ll be a lot of standing around and waiting, and Castiel will be too busy to entertain him. But, especially, if Dean thinks that he should come only because Castiel went to his games, then Castiel doesn’t want him there at all.  
  
Dean had rolled his eyes, said  _whatever_ , and is here anyway. On some level Castiel thinks he should be less focused, that Dean will be a distraction, but it doesn’t feel like that now. Castiel wants to do really, really well, and he wants Dean to be proud of him even if he doesn’t understand what’s going on, even if they don’t make it through. It’s such a strange feeling, Castiel barely knows what to do with it.  
  
“Yes.” Castiel tentatively squeezes Dean’s hand back. “Yes, I heard you.


	5. History club competition, part 2

Dean seems to be under the misapprehension that because he fell asleep during their team’s presentation, Castiel is upset with him. Castiel isn’t, he really and truly isn’t, but he’s well on the way to getting annoyed with how Dean won’t let it drop.  
  
“You need to kick my ass,” Dean says. They’re carrying stuff back to Mr. Singer’s car from the convention hall, Dean practically bouncing on his feet in his anxiousness. “You should totally take up that offer.”  
  
“What I really want is for you to stop,” Castiel replies sharply. “It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“You keep saying that but—”  
  
“ _Dean._ ” Castiel puts the box down next to the car and turns. Dean falls silent, mouth a sad, disappointed line when Castiel glares at him. “If you do not let that go, I will be forced to take drastic measures.”  
  
Dean bites his bottom lip. “But—”  
  
“You are exasperating!” Castiel yells. A fellow student walking by jumps in surprise, but Castiel ignores him. “Why are you upset? Tell me why you are upset, and I will tell you why  _I_  am upset.”  
  
“You won,” Dean says miserably. “You made it to Nationals and I missed it. I shouldn’t have... I  _shouldn’t have._ ”  
  
Castiel sighs. He pulls out Mr. Singer’s keys and unlocks the car. “Now I shall respond. Dean, there are things that matter and things that don’t. The fact that you were not paying attention during our group presentation does not matter. The fact that you came  _at all_ , does.”  
  
Dean pushes the boxes into the trunk, daring only glance at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “That’s not enough.”  
  
“Of course it’s enough.” Castiel touches his arm. “Dean, stop. Look at me.”  
  
A public parking lot is an awkward place for this conversation. Castiel likes it far better when it’s just the two of them in the den, or Dean’s car, or in whatever corner of the school they’ve taken for themselves. But Dean is so obviously bothered by this that Castiel forces himself to shove his personal irritation aside and take a good, hard look at what this is really about.  
  
“Dean, when I say I’m not upset, I expect you believe me,” Castiel says.   
  
Dean shrugs stiffly. “Okay.”  
  
“No, it’s not okay.” Castiel usually finds it difficult to physically touch people, since he’s never quite figured out what’s acceptable and under what circumstances, and so prefers to err on the side of caution. He’s also reasonably sure that guys don’t hold hands, even when they get upset, but he chances that today with Dean. Dean’s palms are warm against Castiel’s. “Dean, we’ve been here before. I know why you’re... I know. But I promise to you, right now, that I will not lie about my feelings for the sake of keeping our friendship.”  
  
Dean’s laugh is a little hoarse. “Ever?”  
  
“If I don’t want to tell you something, I will simply say so,” Castiel pledges. “I will do my utmost to be honest, so you will know for certain if I’m ever angry.”  
  
“Or hurt?”   
  
Castiel looks up into Dean’s face. His eyes are so very bright. “Or hurt. Right now, I am not. Do you believe me?”  
  
Dean lets out a soft exhalation of relief, though his body seems to still be taut with nerves. “Yeah.” He nods rapidly. “I believe you. And I will... I’ll try to do the same. That okay?”  
  
“Yes.” The back of Castiel’s neck warms with pleasure and gratification that Dean treasures their friendship so. It feels so – so  _silly_ , except where it’s a rather big deal – so Castiel turns away quickly, confused and embarrassed. If he’s lucky Dean won’t notice the flush on his face. “That’s good, hmm.”  
  
“But hey, congrats!” Dean’s arm comes round Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing. Castiel ducks his head further, reminding himself that Dean is tactile and does this to all his good friends. “You made it. Your dad’s got to be proud of that.”  
  
“Oh, yes, hmm.” Castiel hates himself. His face is burning right up. “Thank you.”  
  
“C’mere, you,” Dean says with a laugh in his voice, pulling Castiel right round into his arms.   
  
Oh, a hug. Hugs are okay. Friends hug. Castiel’s seen Dean hug Sam many times. Hugs are completely platonic and acceptable in celebratory situations. Sportsmen are far more touchy-feely when they’re happy.  
  
Castiel’s hands twitch awkwardly against Dean’s back. Dean knows how to hug, he’s got the posture all right; Castiel’s the one mostly standing there and letting himself be hugged. Castiel wants a cigarette, or a drink, or something, because his chest is tight and he can’t breathe properly and  _Dean smells so good_. He’s not wearing the leather jacket today but Castiel thinks there’s a faint leathery echo on his shirts, though the closer Castiel’s nose gets to Dean’s neck, the more he can smell skin and sweat.  
  
Dean’s chest rumbles when he says a soft, “Cas?”   
  
The corner of Dean’s collar tickles a little against Castiel’s chin. Dean’s shoulders are really very firm, and it’s mirrored by the strong curve of Dean’s back that Castiel traces a curious palm down slowly. Dean’s chin is smooth, he likes to say that he shaves but Castiel’s more inclined that this is Dean just as he is, his skin warm and fragrant, and oh, there’s his mouth.  
  
Then Castiel’s kissing Dean, because Dean’s mouth is soft and Dean smells so good and Dean’s hands are wonderful things that hold on Castiel’s hips to prevent him from flying away. A breath and then Dean’s kissing back, guiding Castiel’s mouth open and pushing a tongue inside. Someone makes a pleasurable sound, it could be both of them, who knows. Dean’s hand cups Castiel’s face, holding them together as he steps forward, and Castiel suddenly finds himself pressed up against a car by almost-six-feet of Dean Winchester, who's kissing the hell out of him.  
  
Someone coughs.  
  
Dean pulls away, but it is a slow, reluctant movement. No guilty jumping apart, no shocked wide eyes. Castiel is so painfully grateful, even as he drops his face to Dean’s shoulder in embarrassment.   
  
“Yeah, we’re cleared up,” Tamara says from somewhere behind Dean. “Mr. Singer suggested leaving you here but you’ve got the keys.”  
  
“Oh Jesus, Singer,” Dean says. He laughs softly and squeezes Castiel’s hip. “Let’s uh...”  
  
“Yes, of course.” Castiel draws away, unable to look Dean or anyone else in the eye.   
  
He quickly gets into the car, resisting the urge to cover his face while voices wash over him and Mr. Singer says something that would undoubtedly make him want to crawl into a foetal position should he make the effort to listen. Shame is a strange emotion to have, for Castiel’s never cared whenever people caught him with Crowley or Balthazar. Perhaps it’s because being with Dean is far more precious.   
  
And unpredictable.  
  
And limited.  
  
Oh Heavens, it’s  _limited_. How many months are there left in the school year? Then Dean will go to college and he’ll meet new people and maybe they’ll try to keep in touch at first but that rarely works out, doesn’t it? Their time together is so finite, so  _tiny_ , and all of sudden Castiel’s resolution to learn Dean first feels a foolhardy scheme. This could be all they have.  
  
Castiel pulls out his cellphone.  _Would you like to go on a date with me?_  He sends it.  
  
Next to him, Dean’s phone chirps. There’s a long, agonizing moment, and then Castiel gets a reply:  _Y! Newhere specific u want?_  
  
Castiel twists away to press his face against the window. Dean is right next to him but he can’t make himself meet his eyes, Dean might see everything in his face and then he will suffocate on his own mortification.  
  
A touch to his back makes Castiel start. That’s Dean, tentative and cautious, offering comfort by rubbing small circles into Castiel's back with his thumb. Castiel gropes for Dean’s hand blindly, capturing it in his own, and holds on for dear life.  
  
It’s the strangest ride back home, hands locked and Castiel unable to look at Dean.


	6. First date, part 1

It’s T-minus twenty-two minutes until Dean is expected at the Reeves house, and Dean is doing his best not to freak out.  
  
He’s in the kitchen, hands clammy around the second can of pop he shouldn’t be having because his bladder’s going to hate him later. It’s still better than staying in his room, though, because up there there’s nothing to distract him.   
  
Fact is, Dean doesn’t know how to be gay. A voice that sounds a hell of a lot like Sam pops up in his head to say, “The term is  _bisexual_ , Dean” but as far as he can tell, being bisexual consists of a straight part and a gay part – and Dean’s totally cool with the straight part. He’s had most of eighteen years getting cool with the straight part. It’s the other that’s not so clear.  
  
Look, Dean doesn’t pretend to be an expert on girls but he’s got some mileage there, at least. Girls like to have their hands held, to get taken after but not too much, to cuddle under Dean’s arm whenever it gets cold, that kind of thing. And guys mostly do all that kind stuff to keep their girls happy, so what the hell does a guy when they’re  _with_  another guy?  
  
It’s not like Dean can ask anyone about this. Sam and Victor are out the question. Isaac is possible, but that’s a no-go ‘cause his girl is friends with Cas and that... could get tricky quick.  
  
Fact is, Dean’s eighteen years old and back to level zero, and that  _sucks_.  
  
He’s good at faking it, though. Just look at how he’d managed to hold on to Captain’s post for longer than anyone sane could’ve expected.   
  
“You’re going out tonight?”   
  
Dean freezes, sweat prickling at the back of his neck. He slowly puts the can down. “Uh, yeah? Won’t be late. You look gorgeous, Mom.”  
  
She steps into the kitchen and sits down. Mom looks like a dream, with her hair up and make-up on, but doesn’t make the tension in Dean’s stomach ease up. Mom’s smile is kind. “Something special?”  
  
“No,” Dean says, far too quickly.   
  
Mom’s eyes drop to the can, as though there’s some answer there. There might be, who knows, Mom’s a freaking detective and she could always see right through him even though she’d sometimes get the completely wrong conclusion, though that’s still better than Dad who missed the target entirely sometimes.  
  
“Don’t tell Dad,” Dean blurts. “Just. Not yet.”  
  
She nods, unsurprised. “It’s for you to tell.”  
  
“Thanks.” Dean’s hands twitch on the formica table. “I don’t. Uh.” He swallows, and then laughs hoarsely.  
  
“It’ll be fine.” Mom takes his hand, squeezing gently. It eases some of the ache in Dean’s shoulders but not all of it; she always had way too much confidence in him. “If you ever want to talk—”  
  
“I know.” Dean nods jerkily. This isn’t even fair, he could talk to Mom about girls because Mom used to  _be_  a girl, but this is completely different. She doesn’t even know how Dean fucked up, and so has no idea how he could easily fuck it up all over again.   
  
“If this is stressing you out,” Mom says cautiously, “Then you should call it off. Right now. You can reschedule, maybe talk a little more about what you want to do. If you’re this upset, then it’s probably not a good idea for the moment.”  
  
“I’m not upset,” Dean protests. “I’m  _excited_ , geez, Mom. I’ll just go.” He stands up abruptly, the scrape of the chair way too loud against the linoleum floor. “I’ll be back in time to pick up Sam, don’t worry.”  
  
It’s just a fucking first date. What the fuck, Dean Winchester, man up.   
  
Dean chants that to himself the entire super-long (not) walk over to Cas’ house, and then he’s knocking at the front door, jiggling his leg and trying not to jump at every stupid sound from Cas’ stupid front yard. Dean remembers what it feels to be suave and confident for this part, but that’s like distant history.  
  
Cas answers the door. His eyes are wide in terror that mirrors Dean’s.  
  
“Oh my shit.” Dean clamps a hand over his mouth, but the laugh still sputters out through his fingers.  
  
Cas’ cheeks flush, and he turns to glare at someone in the house. “I  _told_  you!” He steps out quickly, grabbing Dean’s arm and dragging him along. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Anna. I’ll get back at her for her betrayal, you mark my words.”  
  
“Jesus, did you do your hair yourself, or did she—”  
  
“Let’s not talk about it.”  
  
“—whose hair gel did you have to steal—”  
  
“How about not talking about it?”  
  
“—and what the hell are you wearing?”  
  
“Dean!” Cas grabs Dean’s collar, shaking it weakly. They’re standing at the Impala, Cas having enough navigational sense to stomp his way to their ride. Dean fumbles for his keys, unwilling to take his eyes off Cas, who says through gritted teeth, “This is new for me, all right. Please don’t laugh.”  
  
“I’m not… I’m sorry.” Dean opens the door for Cas, then quickly goes round to get in himself. Cas sinks morosely into the seat, arms crossed. Dean says, “That’s not you, man. Not by any standard.”  
  
“I don’t know how this works,” Cas mutters sourly. “Dates are different from hanging out as just friends. There are certain expectations to meet, and there are no definite guidelines. I like guidelines.”  
  
Dean’s breath catches in his throat. Besides the fact that it’s actually pretty damn awesome that Cas went to all this trouble of trying to be date-appropriate – no matter that the jacket is too big for him and the slacks were made for someone a billion years older – there’s something else going on here that Dean hadn’t even considered until this moment.  
  
“Cas,” Dean says slowly. “Have you ever been on a date before?”  
  
Cas turns his face to the window.  
  
“Ever?” Dean’s heart pounds in his chest. “But what about… All those other…”  
  
Cas shrugs unhappily. “Never. Not like this.”  
  
Dean settles back in his seat, hands on the steering wheel. His feels winded, thrilled, excited and –once he’s brought the Impala out onto the main road and had time to think a little – actually a little angry. Crowley’s an ass, but there was that guy before that and another one before that, not that Dean ever caught their names, but no dates? What the hell?  
  
“It’s mostly the same,” Dean says. “It doesn’t have to be, but dating’s whatever you want to make of it. Like, I was thinking we’d have dinner at Joe’s, play a little pool or darts or whatever, then maybe hang out by the bridge if we have time? What’d you think?”  
  
Cas shifts in his head. “That doesn’t sound all that different from what we’ve done before.”  
  
Dean can’t see Cas’ face, but his voice is no longer taut with unhappiness, which is good. “Yeah. I mean, I could bring you flowers but I don’t think you’d be a fan of that.” He pauses. “Wait, do you like flowers? ‘Cause I’d totally get you flowers if you want, don’t mean to assume.”  
  
“I don’t mind chocolates,” Cas says tentatively. “Not so much a fan of receiving flowers, though, I like them to be free to grow.”  
  
“Oh, okay.” Dean’s nervous laugh makes Cas laugh, too. The atmosphere’s back to something normal and more relaxed, and Cas reaches out to poke at the radio. “I think I have a comb in my pocket, you can get that gunk out of your hair.”  
  
Cas moves over, slipping a hand into Dean’s jacket pocket to rummage around. The touch is a cheap thrill, making Dean snicker and Cas duck his head in unexpected embarrassment. “Girls make themselves look nice for their… for the ones they want to impress.” He pulls the comb through his hair, wincing at the effort. “It was an educated guess.”  
  
“Your hair looks great the way it normally is,” Dean says. “Kind of feathery, like you just rolled out of bed? That’s pretty hot.”  
  
“Oh?” Cas sounds surprised. “But that’s… you  _like_  that?”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean wants to run his fingers through it all the time. More than once he’s had to clasp his hands behind his back, because dudes don’t do that. Correction: dudes who are only  _friends_  don’t do that, because if tonight goes well, Dean might get the chance to, and he totally will. “I dig it.”  
  
Cas pats his hair self-consciously. “I like a lot of things about you, too.” He pauses thoughtfully. “I hesitated to say that because I’m not out to stroke your ego, but it’s true.”  
  
Dean laughs again, and Cas swats at him. “What?” Dean protests. “It’s good! This is good, this is flirting!”   
  
“Is it?” Cas is smiling now. He draws a hand down Dean’s arm, for seemingly no reason other than because he wants to. “Are we expected to hold hands? Because I don’t think I’d be comfortable holding hands.”  
  
“Nah, we don’t need to do that. I might play footsie with you under the table, though.”  
  
Cas makes a soft, pleased sound. “I like this,” he says. Dean chances a glance at him, and he’s pressed a fist to his mouth, looking at Dean like it’s Christmas and his birthday and first day of summer break all at once. “I like it just like this.”  
  
Dean turns back to the road, still grinning. Tonight just might go fine.


	7. First date, part 2

They can’t stay out too long because Dean needs to pick Sam up from his study group, but they manage to squeeze in one darts game (Cas loses, supposedly because he can only concentrate when he’s hungry) and a brief detour to the drugstore (to get some obscure trade magazine Cas has the hots for, because he is a nerd).   
  
“Do you remember that guitar you used to play?” Cas asks in the car. They’re on the way to Scott’s house, Cas’ phone open to his GPS in case they get lost though Dean insists that that won’t happen. “It was a… I don’t even think you knew how to play, but you liked strumming it.”  
  
“Hey!” Dean protests. “I did too know how to play. The problem wasn’t me, it was the guitar. It wasn’t even a  _proper_  one, Grandpa Samuel gave it to me for Christmas – or was it a birthday, I can’t remember. I think it had something to do with my mom’s Beatles fixation? It’s all a blur.”  
  
“I thought you were terrible,” Cas tells him. “But I didn’t say so, because I liked to hear you sing.”  
  
“Really?” Dean shoots Cas a quick, surprised look. Cas just shrugs, clearly unembarrassed – which isn’t fair because Dean gets a twisty in his stomach from the admission. By some unspoken agreement they haven’t talked much about those early days, when things were simpler and the world smaller, so Cas suddenly bringing it up now is a surprise.  
  
Not to mention that Dean didn’t think Cas remembers much from that time at all. He’d convinced himself that Cas must’ve scrubbed all that out of him, hollowing out everything inside himself that Dean’s ever touched. If things were reversed, Dean's sure would have done the same. Maybe. He doubts Cas would’ve been that much of an asshole to him in the first place.  
  
“So…” Dean grins. “You have any requests?”  
  
“Another time, perhaps,” Cas says. “We’re here.”   
  
Sam is waiting for them, all packed up and visibly annoyed at their being (only a little) late. He gives them a weird, suspicious look when he gets in the car, then waves at Scott and his mom as they drive off.   
  
“Did you have a good session?” Cas asks because he actually cares; he’s that kind of guy.  
  
“It was okay,” Sam replies warily. After a while, he adds, “I didn’t know you guys were hanging out today.”  
  
Dean glances sideways. Cas is looking down at his magazine and patting the glossy front cover as if he hadn’t heard Sam. Dean understands why Cas does it but he finds it exasperating – annoying, even, though he tries not to think about that too much because it makes him feel more like a douche. Cas always,  _always_  defers to Dean to explain the current status of their – friendship, whatever – which would be fine if Dean had any freaking clue how to explain it to himself.   
  
Sometimes Dean just wants to grab Cas and make him sit down so they can talk about this. Girls always seem to have a handle on what’s going on in any relationship and Dean’s usually happy to go along with it because, you know, girls have been trained from babyhood to deal with feelings and shit like that. But Cas won’t do it because he’s afraid he’ll scare Dean off (Dean can tell by the way he tenses up sometimes, freezing up when he rewinds what he just said or rewrites what he’s about to say), and Dean doesn’t want to do it because, again,  _feelings_.  
  
But they’ll definitely have talk about this later. Soon. Eventually.  
  
“This is a date, isn’t it!” Sam yells. “You’re – you’re wearing your date shirt, oh my god, why am I here! Couldn’t you have gone out when you don’t have to… oh. Mom and Dad are out tonight.” Trust Sam to get it quickly.  
  
“Yeah, well,” Dean says. “Didn’t want him to ask any questions.”  
  
Sam makes a huffy, unhappy sound. He’s quick to the chase but also a judgmental little squirt – pouting at him all the time like Dean has to make an honest guy out of Cas or something. “Dad may be selectively blind,” Says says, “but that’s not going to work forever.”  
  
“Dean’s trying,” Cas says. “Let him do it at his own pace. And your mother is supportive, she will help.” Dean starts at the touch to his hand – Cas cups his wrist comfortingly, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles there.   
  
“Just drop me off at home before you – whatever,” Sam says.  
  
That was what Dean was going to do anyway. Their street is nice and quiet this time of evening, and Dean parks the car in their driveway, leaving Sam to gleefully bound into the house by himself. That means Dean’s free to fall into step next to Cas, walking him back to his house.  
  
Anticipation curdles in Dean’s stomach like a bad taco, each step he makes alongside Cas heavier than the last. Dean should say something cool to ease the atmosphere, or at least make Cas smile, but Dean’s mind is jammed.  
  
Then they’re on Cas’ front porch, Cas standing with his back to the door and Dean a safe distance in front of him. Dean could almost imagine this is just like any other date he’s ever been on.  
  
“I had a good time.” Cas says it low and honest, but there’s a touch of surprise there, as though he hadn’t expected it to be, as though he’d had his own ideas of how a date with Dean would go, and this wasn’t it. But before that thought can wind up into panic, Cas continues, “I enjoy spending time with you, Dean. I hope that – I hope I’ve made that clear.”  
  
“Yeah, you have.” Dean thinks he sounds a little breathless, but who can blame him, they’re being all polite and minimal-safe-distance like they haven’t already  _had sex_. Like Dean hasn’t touched Cas’ dick and knows what it feels like when Cas comes around his fingers. Dean takes a quick breath, grateful that it’s too cold to get a full-blown chubby out here. “I like spending time with you, too. It’s been nice.”  
  
“Hasn’t it?” Cas smiles suddenly, relief lighting up his face. Dean forgets to breathe for a moment, surprised by the bare honesty in Cas’ eyes. “It’s been – I don’t know – it’s been different tonight but also the same? We do things like we normally do, but it’s… more? I didn’t know it could be like this, but sometimes it’s all – sometimes I wish it could be easier.”  
  
Dean opens his mouth, though he doesn’t really know what to say. Cas is talking about them, but also about something else that Dean’s not too clear about.  
  
“Because I keep  _thinking_ ,” Cas says fiercely. “Every moment I’m thinking about you, second guessing, what’s good, what’s not, maybe I can’t, and it’s been like that since – since… You don’t know what I’m talking about. Never mind.”  
  
“Hey, no, not never mind, no.” Dean stops when he realizes he’s taken a step into Cas’ personal space, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“We can’t be friends, can we?” Cas says. “Not  _really_ , not when both of us know that there’s also  _this_.” He puts a hand on Dean’s chest, and the skin there jolts at the touch.  
  
“Guess not.” Dean thinks he should feel sorry about that, but Cas’ eyes are a ridiculous blue this close, even in the dim light. “Maybe that ship’s sailed.”  
  
“Ages ago, yes.” Cas’ hand slowly moves upward until it’s resting on Dean’s shoulder. Cas licks his lips, that faint flash of pink making Dean’s skin tingle. “What do we do?”  
  
“Do we have to do something?” Dean asks. “I thought… I mean, you asked me out. I thought you were okay, that we were gonna… be something else?”  
  
Something flickers across Cas’ face. It’s brief, but Dean thinks he catches something unhappy, as though Cas has seen something sad and distant when he could be here and now, where things are good.   
  
“Hey,” Dean says, and then he’s coming in and kissing Cas.   
  
Cas sags suddenly – his knees buckling, maybe, which is a rush to think about – but Dean catches him, two hands underneath Cas’ upper arms to hold him upright. Their mouths slide against each other, soft and lazy, and when Cas breathes in slowly through his nose, the rush of air is cool against Dean’s cheek.   
  
Dean’s only gotten this a handful of times. He hasn’t had the chance to map Cas’ mouth properly and taste everything of him. Dean’s whole body feels like a live-wire – there’s so much he wants to do that he can’t decide what to do first. Should he lick Cas’ teeth, or maybe suck on his tongue, or maybe slide his mouth across Cas’ to feel that awesome slick smooth feel of lips on lips? Dean wants everything, he wants to make it hard and keep it soft, he wants to hold Cas to him gently and shove him up against a hard surface—  
  
Cas carefully pushes Dean away.  
  
Dean’s heels skid a little at the sudden, though gentle, shove. Dean feels like a flipped slinky, trying hard to right itself though the world keeps tumbling.  
  
Cas is breathing hard, lips damp and eyes dark. “Goodnight, Dean.”  
  
“What?” Dean sways forward, only to find Cas’ hands bracing a hard wall against his chest. “What?”   
  
“First date,” Cas says slowly. “And your parents should be coming home soon.”  
  
“We can still make out for longer than that!”   
  
Cas makes a taut, hungry sound. Cas, who has probably done shit that Dean can barely stand to read about on the internet, closes his eyes and shudders. Dean has to look down and check, grinning with gratification when he sees the tent in Cas’ pants.  
  
“Come on,” Dean says in a low voice. “We’re not doing this the normal way. We  _haven’t_  been doing it the normal way, you’re right, this isn’t standard operating procedure.”  
  
“Go home, Dean,” Cas says thickly. He backs up, shoulder making a soft thump when he hits the door. Dean wants to protest, but Cas cuts him off with a more forceful, “Go home, go to your room.” He gives Dean a solemn, heady look. “I’ll give you five minutes.”  
  
“Five minutes for…?” Dean blinks when Cas pulls out his phone.  
  
“Five minutes.” Cas taps his phone against his chin. “Or I start without you.”  
  
Oh shit.  
  
It’s not ideal but Dean will take it for now. He high-tails it out of there, sprinting across the next couple of lawns and over two creepy garden gnomes to make it back home. He vaguely hears Sam yell at him when he runs up the stairs two steps at a time, room door slamming behind him when his phone goes off.  
  
Dean’s set up his cell to bring up a profile picture of Cas when he calls. It’s a candid, taken during a recent study hall, of Cas at a desk and reading. The angle of the photo means that strands of his dark hair flicker out like branches, shading his lowered eyelids and the strong line of his nose. (Cas doesn’t know Dean uses this picture.)  
  
Dean lets it ring once, then picks up. “Hey.”  
  
“ _I’m touching myself_ ,” Cas says.  
  
The breath rushes out of Dean’s lungs. “Thought you said you’d wait for me.” He rummages around his room, finding his hands-free and putting it on. “Five minutes too long?” He rolls into bed, making himself comfortable while Cas breathes in his ear.  
  
“ _Yes._ ” There’s a rustle, then the sound of Cas smacking his lips. “ _Are you in your room?_ ”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean is all business in getting his pants open, shoving them down just enough to pull out his cock. Cas is making toe-curling sounds through the tiny speakers, and Dean doesn’t want to miss anything. “Wish you were here.”  
  
“ _You can imagine me instead. Close your eyes and – I’m lying on my back. My pants are off, as is my outer shirt. But I still have my undershirt, because I like… I like leaving something on. I like how it feels._ ”  
  
“I bet you look sexy.” Dean palms himself, and over the phone Cas laughs softly. “You do, your skin, I want to… I keep thinking about it.”  
  
“ _You think about taking my mouth, Dean?_ ”  
  
Dean groans, hand tightening around his cock. Of course Cas would be superb at this, too. His voice is made for this, liquid silk that manages to draw goosebumps on Dean’s skin from a couple of houses away. “Yeah – yeah, sometimes.”  
  
“ _When?_ ”  
  
“Sometimes, whenever it’s – whenever,” Dean stutters. Cas’ clever bow-shaped mouth that Dean’s made himself  _not_  think about too much the past couple of weeks, but now he’s allowed to it all comes crashing back like a punch to the gut. “Just sometimes.”  
  
“ _That’s not what I meant._ ” Cas sounds a little more breathless – is he stroking himself? Or is he just cupping himself in a tease, maybe playing with his balls? “ _I meant, what kind of scenarios do you imagine me servicing you? In the locker room, after a game, when you’re sweaty and high on adrenaline? Or maybe in class, when you’re bored? Do you imagine me on my knees under your desk, licking you while the class goes on around us?_ ”  
  
“Oh Jesus fuck, Cas.” Dean’s cock jumps in his hand, and he drags his palm up and down the shaft slowly. “You filthy son of a bitch, this is  _your_  fantasy, you’ve thought about  _me_ , haven’t you? You want to suck me off? How about if I want to suck  _you_  off?”  
  
Cas makes a choking sound. “ _You would?_ ”  
  
“Hell, yeah,” Dean groans. He’s moved to firm strokes now, pumping steadily but not too fast – he doesn’t want this to be over yet. “I’d be terrible at it, though.”  
  
“ _Yes, yes, you’d be terrible._ ” Cas makes another filthy sound, he has to be jacking himself pretty hard now. “ _But I’d teach you. I’d hold your head and slide into your mouth slowly. God, your lips, Dean, the way they’d stretch around me, swallowing me down._ ”  
  
“Oh yeah.” Dean can feel Cas’ phantom touch on his scalp. He can see Cas above him, that stubborn look on his face as he holds Dean in place to fuck his mouth. He has no idea what it’d feel like to swallow dick, but if it makes Cas sound like that, it’s gotta be good. “You’d pull my hair, make me take it.”  
  
“ _And I’d make you put your your fingers in me,_ ” Cas growls. “ _I want to ride your fingers and your mouth at the same time. I want you to get your fingers all the way in until I’m tight against your palm, until I can’t go anywhere. Oh God, oh God, Dean – don’t stop, don’t stop—_ ”  
  
“Fuck, are you fingering yourself?” When Cas just lets out a high whine, Dean snaps, “Cas, are you fingering yourself?”  
  
“ _Yes!_ ” is Cas’ shrill answer. “ _It’s you – it’s your fingers – I always imagine it’s you._ ”  
  
Dean’s hit by the gorgeous mental image of Cas splayed on his bed and fucking his hand. His eyes would be scrunched tight, his mouth open as he pants, and that undershirt of his rucked up to his armpits. Would Cas do this with Dean watching, Dean wonders? He would, Cas totally would, and Dean comes to the sensory overload of that delicious thought and Cas’ actual sobbing in his ear.  
  
The only thing that would make this better is if Cas was actually here. If Dean could press his nose to the space behind Cas’ ear, nip the skin there and rub his cock against Cas’ skin to catch the last of his come.  
  
“Jesus,” Dean murmurs. Cas agrees with a useless, exhausted sound. “Wanna kiss you, Cas. Want… want everything.”  
  
“ _Okay,_ ” Cas says quietly. “ _Yes._ ”   
  
He doesn’t say anything about hanging up, though, so Dean doesn’t suggest it. It feels good just to breathe in tandem like this, picturing Cas shell-shocked and sprawled out like Dean’s favorite wet dream. After a while he hears Cas get up, so Dean joins him in getting undressed and cleaned.  
  
It should be weird to have Cas listening in while Dean brushes his teeth, but it’s not.   
  
Later, Cas asks, “ _Could I take you up on your offer now?_ ” He sighs contentedly, and Dean imagines him crawling under his covers and tucking them around his ears. Dean knows the feeling. “ _I don’t have any specific songs in mind._ ”  
  
“Now?” Dean raises his head at the sound of footsteps outside – sounds like Mom and Dad are back. No one knocks, though, so Dean just lies back down and tucks his pillow closer around his head. “Sure, let me start with a classic...”


	8. Anna helps

Castiel has it all worked out. Well, not  _all_  of it, but just enough of it to be sure that this is what he wants. Maybe he’ll change his mind tomorrow, or next week, or next month, but right now Dean is but a willing phone call away, and Castiel is not going to waste it.  
  
He finds Anna in her room. It takes a handful of loud knocks to get her attention over the loud music playing, which makes Castiel assume she is studying, but when she opens the door her hair is disheveled and her eyes tired. Perhaps her Friday night had been as eventful as Castiel’s own.  
  
“I need to borrow the car,” Castiel says. “May I have the keys?”  
  
“You can’t go, Dad’s coming home today, remember?” Anna yawns. “What do you want the car for?”  
  
“I need to buy condoms.”  
  
Anna abruptly drops her shoulder to the doorframe, arms crossed and looking eerily like Michael. “You’ve run out already?”  
  
“I don’t have any, at all,” Castiel confesses. “With the… Crowley used to get them. We were always together at his place anyway.”  
  
“Of which I was always grateful.” Anna double-takes suddenly, mouth dropping open. “Wait, you never had your own? Castiel, that is completely irresponsi—”  
  
“I’m trying to be responsible now!” Castiel rushes out. His face feels hot, his palms sweaty. Sometimes Anna seems so much older, so easily does she make Castiel feel small and foolish. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed. But I’m trying to be… I’m trying to do it correctly now. May I have the keys?”  
  
“No, you can get them later.” Anna is still making a face, but her voice is softer, acquiescent. “You’re not going to have sex with Dean right this minute, are you?”  
  
Castiel could tell her they’d had lazy morning phone sex about half an hour ago and would probably do it again later in the day, but Anna wouldn’t appreciate the pedantry. “No, of course not, Father’s coming home today.”  
  
Anna bites her lip, and then retreats into her room, moving to the set of drawers next to her desk. “If you really,  _really_  need them right this instant, I can spare you some.” She flashes a quick smile at him over her shoulder. “If you’re not grossed out by the idea, of course.”  
  
“I’d appreciate it, just for now.” Castiel follows her into the room, quiet while Anna rummages through her things. It’s foolish to be unsettled enough by her easy acceptance that Castiel and Dean are sexually active; anyone who’s seen them over the past month would have seen it coming, or assumed it were already the case, but Anna knows other parts of it, has seen glimpses of the cracks Castiel would rather keep to himself.   
  
(Dean didn’t mean it, he wants to say. Dean made a mistake and it’s all in the past. But that would mean having to explain everything else, and Anna doesn’t trust Dean already.)  
  
“What have you been using, then?” Anna is sorting through a small purple toiletry bag. “Been counting on Dean to be prepared for both of you?”  
  
“No, we haven’t come to a stage where protection is required.” Castiel winces; he hasn’t cleared with Dean yet how much of their relationship he’s willing to share with others. “I can’t assume, but it’s better to be prepared.”  
  
Anna’s smile is amused but withering. “Yes. Yes, it is.”  
  
Castiel is startled by the reactive pang in his gut to the look on Anna’s face. He’s never cared before what anyone thinks or knows of his proclivities, but Dean deserves more than that. Dean is so new and precious, just the thought thickens the rush of protectiveness in Castiel’s chest.  
  
“It’s up to me,” Castiel says decisively. “I have to do this correctly, I must…” He pauses, frowning down at the foiled packets Anna’s slapped into his palms. “Why do you have condoms, Anna?”  
  
Anna makes a face. “Because I like being responsible.”  
  
“But you don’t…” Castiel cocks his head. “Since when? Is it someone I know?”  
  
Anna plasters on a cool smile and pointedly steers Castiel towards the door. “You just take care of yourself.”  
  
Castiel allows himself to be kicked out, but he manages to send a quick, “You, too,” over his shoulder, catching Anna’s eye roll just before she closes the door behind him. “And let me know when you’re getting ready for Father!” he adds.


	9. Cas gives Dean a blowjob and Dean almost talks about feelings

Technically, Dean doesn’t have permission to do this. He does have permission to drop by Cas’ house whenever he wants on the condition that he lets Cas know beforehand, and Dean sort of told him this morning that he’d try to come over after finishing his chores, but at the same it’s been almost a whole 48 hours since that first date, their phone calls since then have been amazingly filthy (to Dean’s 100% approval) but Cas hasn’t actually said whether it’d be okay for Dean to push for a live demonstration.  
  
Dean  _really_  wants a live demonstration.  
  
That’s why he’s creeping round the back of Cas’ house, carrying a bag that contains the homework he’d told Mom and Dad he’d be doing at a friend’s house. That’s actually true – Cas  _is_  a friend and he  _does_  help Dean with his homework. Dean might even get the chance to open his bag if he’s lucky.  
  
Heh, lucky.  
  
A glance in the back window confirms that Cas is in the kitchen. His dad’s car had been in the driveway this morning but now it’s gone, so it’s probable, possible, likely that Dean’s welcome right around now.  
  
“Hey.” Dean taps the window and waves when Cas looks up. “I can go if you want?”  
  
Cas opens the door instead, and before Dean can get to pussyfootin’ around figuring out if he’s allowed to do even a quarter of what they’ve been saying at each over during their stellar phone sex, Cas is rising up on his toes and kissing him. Just a peck, though, only long enough for Dean to get a quick whiff of soap and Cas’ skin.  
  
“Hello.” Cas goes back to where he’d been taking stuff out from the dishwasher. “Have you been waiting for my father to leave?”  
  
“No,” Dean replies firmly, “because that would be creepy.”  
  
Cas’ soft laugh goes straight to Dean’s chest, a cup of sunshine settling somewhere at the center of his ribs. Dean takes up post next to where Cas is crouched down, helping him put the cups and plates on the counter before storing them away.  
  
“Michael and Gabriel will be back for Christmas,” Cas tells him. “And Father told us this morning that Michael’s bringing his girlfriend with him. Lucy something, I can’t recall the name. That should make things interesting, don’t you think? Anna’s already looking into catering.”  
  
Dean starts in surprise. “You get catering for Christmas?”  
  
“Thanksgiving, Christmas, et cetera. Our cousins usually drop by, and we do need to feed them something. It’s always been that way.” Cas stands up and stretches.  
  
Dean’s gaze automatically drops to Cas’ waist to catch a glimpse of skin when the hem of his shirt rides up. What? He’s allowed. When he looks up Cas is in the middle of turning away, the start of a smirk pulling the corners of his mouth. “You did that on purpose,” Dean says.  
  
“Did what?” Cas laughs again when Dean boxes him against the counter, hands on either side of his body to keep him in place. Not that escape is at all on Cas’ mind, judging from the way he hooks an ankle around Dean’s calf to pull him in. Cas in a playful mood is one of the best kinds of Cas, and Dean doesn’t think he’s been smoking today today, either.  
  
“Home-made dinners are better, though,” Dean says against Cas’ mouth. Cas hums, a soft breath of air against Dean’s lips, and then, yep, they’re kissing.  
  
These are slow, lazy kisses, with hot swipes of tongue and brief snatches of air in between. It isn’t quite what Dean had been picturing, but still awesome. Dean had thought there’d be more urgency, all those weeks of repression bursting out of them both, but Cas seems content to take his time, rocking gently against him and following Dean’s mouth wherever he goes.  
  
“We make a big production out of it,” Dean says maybe ten, fifteen minutes later. “All of us at our grandparents’ place at the same. Classic TV, bad games everyone cheats at, and you wouldn’t believe the miracles that come out of Grandma Deanna’s kitchen.”  
  
“Yeah?” Cas’ hands are around Dean’s torso, scratching gently across the small of Dean’s back. “That sounds nice.”  
  
“It’d be great to have you there.” Dean can even imagine it, as long as he doesn’t think too hard about Cas and Dad being in the same space together. Cas would love it, he thinks. Anna can come, too, if she wants. “I bet you could whoop Christian’s ass at Risk.”  
  
“One day, maybe.” It should sound hollow when Cas says that, like he’s just humoring Dean, but it doesn’t. It sounds hopeful.  
  
Dean clears his throat. Cas’ dad may be out but Dean wouldn’t be surprised if it’s breaking a law somewhere to pop a chubby in someone else’s kitchen. “So hey! You busy? You want to, uh, do something?”  
  
They totally do not run to Cas’ room. They totally don’t sprint past Anna, who yells, “Father will be back for dinner!” at their backs while Dean pokes at Cas’ ribs and Cas swats at him defensively. That would be embarrassing.  
  
“Okay, okay, okay,” Dean chants once Cas has his door shut and they’re neck-and-neck in a race to see who can get their clothes off the fastest. Cas cheats because he is a cheater, darting in every so often to touch Dean on his waist, his chest, his neck; distracting him from crucial things like figuring out how buttons work.  
  
The strategy works, apparently, because Cas is already down to his boxer briefs when Dean’s only managed to get his shirts off. “Here, let me help,” Cas says. Though the offer turns out to be another cheating tactic because as soon as Dean turns towards him, Cas’ hands are on his chest and pushing. Dean yelps, grabbing at air as he falls over and lands on the mattress. It’s a good thing Cas has a really good bed.  
  
Cas is all take-no-prisoners today, yanking Dean’s pants down and off with gleeful triumph that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.  
  
“Let me…” Dean grabs Cas’ hand. “Let me do that.”  
  
Cas’ responding smile is small and pleased. “Alright.” He slides a leg over Dean so that he’s kneeling astride Dean’s body, the position perfect for Dean to lift his hands to Cas’ waist. He tugs at the elastic band of Cas’ dark blue boxer briefs, careful when he pulls it down. He knows what Cas’ dick looks like, has felt in his hand before, but there’s still an overwhelming sense of newness to this whole thing when it pops free.  
  
“You’ve got one of these, too.” Cas cups his dick and firmly settles down on Dean’s lap.  
  
“No, really?” Dean laughs. The view’s great, amazing, perfect, Cas all solid and touchable like everything Dean never knew he wanted. It gets even more perfect when Cas leans down to kiss him again. It’s wet and hot, and their mouths realigning this way and that as though Cas wants to learn what he tastes like from every single angle. Strong, sure hands slide over Dean’s chest, so Dean tries to reciprocate, dragging a hand up Cas’ side and then rubbing curiously at the firm peak of a nipple.  
  
“Flat,” Cas says, as though Dean can’t feel it for himself. “But it’s still good.”  
  
Dean cranes his neck just enough to nip at Cas’ lower lip. “This is starting to feel a lot like some porn I’ve watched before.”  
  
Cas laughs and starts kissing a trail down Dean’s neck. “What kind of porn?”  
  
“You know,” Dean murmurs, lost in the sensation of Cas sucking a hickey just above his navel, “the ones where the straight dude gets seduced to the gay dark side? Like,  _oh no_ , this is too much dick, I did not sign up for this much dick, but then whoops, yeah, dick’s not bad. I got one and it’s pretty fun, so – so, the more you have, the more fun?”  
  
It takes Dean a moment to realize Cas has stopped. He blinks blearily down to where Cas is – oh shit, Cas’ eyes are so dark.  
  
“You watch gay porn, Dean?” Cas says in low voice that prickles the back of Dean’s neck.  
  
“Uh.” Dean swallows. “Shut up. Everyone watches porn.”  
  
“You get off on watching men fuck, Dean?” Cas somehow manages to slide down Dean’s body without taking his eyes off him. The playful smiles are gone, leaving in their place a dark predator ready to eat Dean alive. “Tell me.”  
  
Dean grunts when Cas presses a palm against his erection. “Educational purposes.”  
  
“Really?” Cas makes a lewd, smacking sound with his lips. He’s got Dean’s cock out through the opening in his briefs, and promptly licks a long, wet stripe up the shaft. Dean needs a snapshot of that. Dean needs to stop choking on air and focus on the fact that Cas is playing with his dick. “Oh,” Cas mutters softly, “to have been a fly on the wall for that.”  
  
Dean loves blowjobs. Especially when they’re coming from someone who really enjoys it the way Cas clearly does –  _holy shit_ , the sounds he’s making. Dean honestly can’t decide if Cas’ lips look better when they’re parted and panting, or when they’re stretched wide around his cock  _just like that_. Does it have to be an either/or? Can Dean have everything?  
  
“God, yeah,” Dean groans. He plants his feet on the mattress, willing himself to lie still despite the temptation to fuck up into the sloppy heat of Cas’ mouth. “Fuck, Cas, oh god, better than I – better than anything. Better than then the porn, better than – oh – better than just looking.”  
  
Porn was safe. Sure, anyone could’ve hacked into his history or shit like that, but it was still safer than looking at Cas across the hallway or in class and saving those images in his head for later. He could look at Cas’ mouth and hands and wonder what they’d feel like on his body, but that was wrong because anything Cas-shaped like that didn’t belong in Dean’s head. So porn it was.  
  
Just one video. Just to confirm something Dean already knew about himself.  
  
Just one look at Cas. They’re locker neighbors, after all, it didn’t mean anything.  
  
It meant everything.  
  
Dean curses as he comes, Cas’ fingernails against his skin the only thing keeping him from bucking wildly. Cas doesn’t move away because he’s a deep-throating son of a bitch, swallowing eagerly around him as Dean rides it out.  
  
After that, Cas cleans him with his tongue,  _of course he does_. He laps the head of Dean’s cock, scowling and holding it firmly when it twitches in his hand. Only when it’s cleaned up to his satisfaction does Cas finally sit back and beam – well, in what passes for satisfied beaming for Cas – back at him.  
  
“Woo,” Dean says weakly.  
  
Cas stretches. Or to be more precise, he displays himself like a goddamn cat, back arching and arms out, all that wonderful skin on display. Dean’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to lick, and hey, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to suck Cas’ nipples yet.  
  
More mesmerizing, though, is when Cas starts jacking off. It’s a normal everyday activity but Cas manages to make Dean wonder if he’s been doing it wrong this whole time. Cas is using both hands, one working the shaft and the other fondling his balls, though where the hell he gets coordination like that Dean will never know.  
  
Dean has a front row seat to Cas’ jerking off, so it’s understandable that he almost forgets.  
  
“Wait. Cas, I want to do it.” Dean flails a hand at him but Cas just smiles and inches away, whole body rocking as he builds up a rhythm. “Hey, c’mon.”  
  
“Later,” Cas says breathlessly. “Later, later, want to… later.”  
  
“No.” Dean finds some strength from who the hell knows where, rising up and practically flinging himself at Cas before Cas can take away what Dean wants. Cas’ eyes go comically wide when Dean tackles him – he’ll tell himself later it’s a tackle, not the simple loss of coordination and balance. They fall together in a heap, Cas breath rushing out of him with an  _oof_  while Dean smothers him firmly against the sheets. Perfect.  
  
“Dean.” Cas wriggles, so Dean tightens his grip. His cock, hard and wet, knocks Dean’s hip. “Dean, what are you doing. Dean, I’m –  _Dean_ , I need—”  
  
“Four minutes.”  
  
Cas makes a low, irritated sound that goes straight to Dean’s toes. Cas hands find Dean’s back, almost clawing at him as he hisses, “Dean, please.”  
  
The fact is, Cas is stronger than he looks and could easily push Dean off. He hasn’t, and doesn’t, so Dean connects the logical dots to the decision to catch Cas’ wrists and pin them down firmly. A shaky whimper confirms this as the right choice.  
  
Cas smells so good and he’s  _right here_  where Dean can taste him. Dean nuzzles his cheek, kisses the dip under an eye, drags his teeth along the skin just above the corner of his mouth. Cas’ lips are so shiny and soft this close, so he swipes his tongue across them. Cas lets out a shocked noise at that, and Dean only figures out why when he registers the tang of his own come.  
  
Dean says, “That was really gay, wasn’t it?”  
  
Cas’ chest rumbles with frustrated laughter. “No, Dean, tasting your come isn’t gay.”  
  
“It is if the mouth I’m sampling it from belongs to a dude.” Dean pulls back far enough to appreciate the flush of Cas’ cheeks. Cas is gritting his teeth, his body is taut as a bowstring and his eyes are frantic, but yet Cas still stays there, supine and unmoving underneath him. “You’re really hot.”  
  
“Dean.” Cas is shivering now. “Dean, you can do whatever you want to me later. I just – please let me come right now,  _please_.”  
  
Dean pushes Cas’ hands until they’re splayed out on either side of him, then turns the palms gently so that Cas can hold on to the sheets. “Stay like this. That okay with you?” Cas nods rapidly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.  
  
Dean’s jacked Cas off before. But that was a fumbling, nervous encounter at the back of his baby, quick and unexpected, and not to mention embarrassing for Dean to think back on as their first time.  _This_  is much better. Now Cas actually smiles when Dean touches him.  
  
A hand on Cas’ stomach keeps him still. It takes Dean a few false starts before he gets a proper grip on Cas’ cock, slicking it up with his pre-come and spit to ease the way. There’s lubricant somewhere but when Dean suggests getting it Cas just yells at him to get on with it,  _now_. Dean can watch Cas properly like this, his own orgasm dealt with and Cas’ imminent one in the spotlight. Dean can pump Cas firmly and study the way he tosses his head and cries out as he gets closer.  
  
There’s still that vague feeling of uneasiness at the back of Dean’s mind at his handling another guy’s dick, but that’s a small thing. Dean can and will get used to this, he just needs practice. Lots and lots of practice.  
  
Would Cas’ come taste like his?  
  
Suddenly curious, Dean drops down and licks the head of Cas’ cock. Cas bucks against his hands, begging through his moans, but Dean ignores him. He focuses instead on latching his lips to the glans – it’s smooth, warm, kinda silky – and sucking. He manages to fit his lips to the heated skin, taking quick pulls air against the surface. It’s like he’s stealing Cas’ flavor in tiny controlled bursts, each sucking kiss he makes causing Cas’ legs to tremble.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Fingers yank at his hair in warning. Dean pulls back, but he’s still close enough that he sees Cas’ slit flare and  _bam_ , there’s come on his face. On his chin and neck, to be precise, plus one last spurt hitting him almost right in the nose.  
  
Dean waits to feeling of grossness to hit. Not that he  _wants_  to feel grossed out, but he remembers the discomfort and queasiness he’d felt watching other people’s comeshots. That discomfort doesn’t seem to be showing up now, though.  
  
“Dean.” Cas’ voice is barely audible. His eyes are hooded and his chest still heaving, which only makes him that much more gorgeous than he already is. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean tries to look at his own cheek and goes a little cross-eyed. “Oh, you mean the jizz on my face? Heh.” Seized by sudden brilliance, he faceplants into Cas’ stomach. Cas jumps at the contact, then bursts out laughing when Dean starts rubbing his face firmly against the skin there.  
  
“Oh, that – that’s disgusting.” Cas squirms against him, laughter turning to hiccups as he shoves weakly at Dean’s shoulders.  
  
Dean raises his head to look at him. “You’d swallow but  _this_  is disgusting?”  
  
“Come here,” Cas barks instead, and he is  _so_  ignoring Dean’s very reasonable argument. He’s also grabbed a cloth from his dresser, and now waves it at Dean. “Come up here, I want to make out. Well, I want to clean your face, and then make out.”  
  
Dean lets him.  _Of course_  Dean lets Cas clean his face like he’s a fucking kid, so what. Cas is making that frowny face he sometimes gets when he’s reading something that he finds fascinating and annoying at the same time, and Dean totally knows better than to tell Cas that he loves it when Cas looks at him like that.  
  
“That was good, though?” Dean ventures. “You liked it?”  
  
Cas’ mouth twitches. “Of course I liked it.”  
  
“So I did okay for a mostly-straight guy who’d been seduced to the dark side?”  
  
Cas puts the cloth down. Dean thinks his grin could split his face in two because not only does Cas have to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud, they can actually joke about this now. No one’s angry, no one’s scared. Everything’s okay.  
  
“You were passable,” Cas says. “Though it’s obvious that I have a lot of work left to do with you.” He touches Dean’s mouth, thumb pulling gently at his bottom lip.   
  
“Better get started, then.”  
  
It’s a terrible line, and they’re still laughing when they fall together in a heap, limbs tangling together in the best way.


	10. Fine, Dean and Castiel are dating

Castiel had an idea about what it might be like to go steady with Dean but, naturally, there are things that take him by surprise. (Not things about  _Dean_ , specifically, though everything new he earns from Dean is packed away and stored in the treasure chest in Castiel’s mind.)  
  
Things like the rush of adrenaline upon witnessing people’s reactions to their changed status. Sam and his automatic acceptance. Jo and her delight. Victor and his mild, “Good influence” which Castiel had assumed has been directed at him, except Dean later insisted that it was the other way round. Crowley and his refusal to believe that they haven’t been fucking all this time. Every single one is an unexpected thrill.  
  
People are nice, for the most part. The GSA’s presence helps, as does the surprising fact that Dean’s coach’s warned off the rest of the team because all he cares about is Dean kicking ass on the field. There are one or two others that try to throw an insult Dean’s way, but they quickly learn not to so to avoid Castiel’s reactive, “At least  _he’s_  getting some.”  
  
No fights, though, because that would get Dean in trouble. Castiel’s behaving really well.  
  
“You can stop giving people death glares, you know,” Dean comments one day during lunch. They’re at a packed table – Jess and Sam and Jo and Ash among them – which is something else completely new for Castiel. He and Dean are sitting side by side so that they can hear each other easily. “Not everyone’s out to get you,” Dean says. “Me. Us.”  
  
“I don’t do it  _all_  the time,” Castiel protests. “Only sometimes.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Dean shoves at Castiel’s elbow gently, not doing anything more intimate than that. They ration out their touches carefully in public places, no matter what Jo implies about them always playing footsie under the table. “It’s nice, though. I guess I should mean it more when I tell you to quit.”  
  
Castiel laughs, surprised. “Oh, of course you enjoy it. You like having someone watch your back.”   
  
“I’m watching your back, too, you know.” Dean smiles at him, and Castiel hunkers down with his meal, ignoring the ache in his arms that want to reach for Dean right there and then.   
  
There’s a group of students on the far end of the cafeteria. Some of them are Dean’s teammates, identifiable by their matching red jackets. They are background noise, indistinguishable from the other students that Castiel only knows in passing, but they get Castiel’s attention now because Dean is looking at them.  
  
Dean’s watching those teammates, who are laughing and joking with each other. One of the boys has a girl practically in his lap, her small frame almost swallowed inside the large red jacket she’s borrowed from her presumable boyfriend. Dean’s eyes are distant, almost wistful.  
  
It makes Castiel wonder if Dean misses that. Not so much those people specifically – even Castiel isn’t so blind to not see that Dean’s happier now than he’s been in a while – but to have a romantic companion on his arm that wouldn’t make anyone look at him twice.   
  
“Hey.” Dean leans towards Castiel, whispering. “Hey, would you... would you ever want to, uh...”  
  
“What?” Castiel looks at Dean curiously. “You can tell me.”  
  
Dean hesitates, visibly wrestling with himself. “Would you ever consider wearing my letter jacket? I mean.” He grimaces, almost stuttering. “Only if you want to, of course. No pressure, it’s not a big deal. Just, you know, if you wanted to.”  
  
Castiel’s gaze drifts down to Dean’s jacket. His cheeks go hot at the realization of what Dean had been imagining.  _This_  is what Dean wants, what he’s now picturing inside his head. It’s strange that despite all the intimate things they’ve been doing recently in their slow learning of each other’s body,  _this_ is what has Castiel practically squirming under Dean’s attention.  
  
It’s just a jacket, except for where it’s more than that. It’s so blatant, the offer so  _proud_. Dean makes it anyway.  
  
“All right,” Castiel says.  
  
“Really?” The excitement in Dean’s voice makes Castiel laugh unexpectedly. Dean coughs and adds far more mildly, “Well, you know, only whenever.”  
  
“I’m touched, Dean.” The words come out softer than Castiel means them to be, with a slight hitch in his name at the end. He has to look down at his meal: apple slices and juice and dried crusts, suddenly unsure if he can trust himself to look at Dean and not give everything away. “I—thank you.”  
  
“Cool.” Dean nudges his shoulder again. “You’ll wear it when you come to my game?”  
  
“Yes.” Castiel sinks down even further, nodding rapidly. “Yes, of course.”


	11. Dean and Castiel make use of those condoms

Castiel is sitting up in his bed when he receives the text from Dean that he’s coming over. It’s a short message, unceremonious and polite. Castiel closes it before going back to reading Uriel’s email.   
  
Castiel had told Anna the reason he wanted to give one of the spare house keys to Dean was in anticipation of emergencies (“Yeah,” Anna had snorted, “emergencies in your  _pants_ ) but Castiel is honest enough to know that it really has to do with his own laziness. He rarely has visitors to begin with, and Dean spends so much time over there anyway. It’s just practical. Sure, there may be a degree intimacy in giving one of the spare keys to Dean, but it isn’t as though this is  _Castiel’s_  house. Zachariah has his own keys, as do cousin Raphael (but not Uriel) and Hester, who comes by sometimes to make sure everything is in working order, so it’s not as if Dean is being exceptionally singled-out here.  
  
Dean had reacted accordingly to the gift, i.e. by palming the keys and saying, “I solemnly swear not to sneak into your room at 2 in the morning to sharpie your face.”  
  
Castiel knows it was a good decision because he doesn’t need to move when he hears footsteps approach. The door opens and Dean slips inside, easy as anything, tossing his bag to the floor before flopping dramatically onto Castiel’s bed. All while Castiel does not need to pause in his composing a reply to Uriel.  
  
“Uriel’s complaining about standardized tests again,” Castiel says frowns at the tiny screen. “Sometimes I think his favorite hobby in the world is picking fights with people.”  
  
“Hey man, don’t judge a guy’s hobbies.” Dean stretches, and Castiel swerves briefly to avoid Dean’s arms. “That gonna take a while, Cas?”  
  
“Shhh.” Castiel closes his eyes, rewording the argument in his head. He likes to be firm in his replies, shutting down all possible points for contention before Uriel can spot them. Opening his eyes, Castiel returns to typing with new fervor, pleased at the sudden inspiration.  
  
A touch on his arm makes Castiel sigh pointedly. Dean’s tugging at his sleeve, and when Castiel ignores that as well, Dean hooks a finger into Castiel’s collar and tugs it wide. A soft kiss at the base of Castiel’s neck makes him start in surprise.  
  
“Dean.” Castiel tries to pull away, only to find he can’t because Dean’s got an arm around his waist. “Dean, just – just let me finish.”  
  
“Then go ahead and finish.” More kisses land on Castiel’s skin – brief, teasing pecks as soft as raindrops. They trace the line of muscle from Castiel’s neck to his shoulder, then swerve down onto the softer skin beneath his collarbone. Dean’s hand paws Castiel’s chest, fingers firm where they stroke Castiel’s hardened nipple through his shirt.  
  
Castiel makes one last attempt to focus on his email. He rereads the last sentence, where there are two – no, three – spelling mistakes. Deciding it’s a lost cause, Castiel tosses the phone a safe distance away before grabbing at Dean. “That’s very underhanded of you.”  
  
Dean’s grin is blinding. “Not my fault you can’t multi-task.”  
  
Castiel loves kissing Dean. Kissing with an enthusiastic partner is nice in itself, but Dean is a whole bunch of flavors assaulting Castiel at once. Even things as simple as a warm puff of breath against Castiel’s mouth, lips pulling at Castiel’s earlobe, teeth on Castiel’s skin – they are as thrilling to fall into as the crisp pages of a brand new book.  
  
“Dean, Dean.” Castiel gestures urgently at the side drawer. “Do you have time today? I – I cleaned myself, if you want to.”  
  
Dean doesn’t answer immediately, but it looks like that’s only because he has to reboot his brain at the suggestion. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”  
  
They’ve talked about this before. Well, as much as they could talk about it before they got unaccountably horny and derailed the conversation, but enough to know that it’s something that’s on the table for them. Dean’s gotten pretty good at fingering Castiel, for starters. Dean knows it can be more work for this than when he’s with a girl, but for some reason he really likes playing find-Castiel's-prostate.  
  
“This time,” Castiel says, laying back, “your goal isn’t to make me come, okay? Just – just get me loose. Get me wet.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll get you wet,” Dean snickers, to which Castiel knocks him playfully with his heel.   
  
When they do this, the only part Castiel doesn’t like is that he can’t really reciprocate. It’s amazing to watch Dean sit comfortably between Castiel’s parted legs, Dean’s lube-shiny hand only partially visible from this angle as it works Castiel open, but Castiel wants to touch him as well. He wants to taste Dean’s satisfied leer, rub against his body, pull his hair, et cetera, ad infinitum.  
  
“Not there!” Castiel yelps. He tries to squirm away from the pressure against his prostate, fists clutching the sheets. “Not – don’t – Dean, just open me up. Dean?  _Dean,_  focus.”  
  
“Two fingers good?” Dean sounds extraordinarily cheerful. He twists his wet fingers, the stretch familiar and pleasant. “Pretty easy going here. Should I head on to three?”  
  
“You don’t really need to.” Castiel’s turned his face away, eyes closed and panting helplessly. “Sometimes one is enough.”  
  
“I  _could_  put three, though?”  
  
“If you like.” Castiel jumps when he feels a different kind of pressure at base of his dick, slick and soft. He forces his eyes open but regrets it immediately, because Dean is frowning in concentration as laps at Castiel’s balls. “Dean.”  
  
“What?” Dean nuzzles the skin there. “Just enjoying the view, man.”  
  
Three fingers are almost too much. Castiel breathes through it, humming his approval when Dean manages to get them in past the second knuckle. They stay like that for a while, Dean breathing against the skin of Castiel’s inner thighs while Castiel adjusts.  
  
At long last, Castiel says, “All right, let’s do this.” He almost laughs at the way Dean pulls his fingers out and scrambles up onto the bed. “Where’s the condom, Dean? Slick yourself up a little more, are you… Do you need assistance with that?”  
  
“Shut up, I actually know what I’m doing with this one.” Dean finally gets the condom on and darts down for a quick kiss. “So how’re we doing this?”  
  
On their sides, with Dean up behind Castiel’s back. Castiel cants one leg up a little to give Dean better access, and then they’re aligning their bodies together. Blunt pressure pushes at Castiel’s opening, and Castiel nods.  
  
“Ow. Slow – just a little – stop, stop, stop.” Castiel grits his teeth and takes quick, sharp breaths. His body’s screaming at him to pull away from the intrusion but he resists, waiting for the give that should be coming any moment now, just like the first time he’d had fingers inside him. Castiel blindly reaches a hand behind him and Dean takes it, their fingers tightening together. “Okay, little more.”  
  
Dean’s cock certainly did not feel this huge in Castiel’s mouth. It’s monstrous, thick and going on forever. Castiel feels like something in his body is going to snap, his entire body a taut muscle clenched tight.  
  
“Stop!” Castiel can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth next. It’s not a good sound.  
  
“Sorry, sorry.” Dean makes a noise, too, but one that’s coming from a very different place. “Jesus,” he wheezes.  
  
The ache in Castiel’s pelvis is unexpected. He’s definitely going to pull something if he stays like this, so he tries shifting his weight and arching his back a little. Dean grunts unhappily, breath coming out in short spurts against the back of Castiel’s neck. When Castiel tries unfolding his leg, his ass clenches down on Dean’s cock – an automatic reflex – and Dean’s hip abruptly snap forward, the sharp thrust making Castiel yelp and flail.  
  
Oh god. Castiel presses his face against the sheets and hisses through the pain.   
  
Behind him, Dean has gone very, very quiet.   
  
It takes a few long minutes before Castiel has his body somewhat back under the control, though his, “Dean?” comes out as a hoarse croak. Dean’s body is lax against his, and he’s pressing a palm gently against Castiel’s stomach. Castiel cranes his neck round. “Dean, did you come?”  
  
Dean’s expression isn’t clearly visible from at this angle, but that’s clearly mortification. “Sorry,” he says in a small voice.  
  
“Ah.” Castiel flops back down onto the mattress. At least the burn has eased up to a dull throb.  
  
“Should I pull out?”  
  
“Slowly.” Castiel winces at the drag in his ass, and Dean freezes at his whimper. “It’s all right, keep going. I’d rather you be out than in at the moment.” As soon as Dean’s pulled free Castiel rolls away and presses a hand to the tender skin between his legs. “Ugh, ow.”  
  
The bed shifts when Dean rises up, off to deal with the condom while Castiel growls his frustration into the pillow.  
  
Well, that was spectacular. Castiel grumbles when Dean slides back into bed, gingerly crawling up against Castiel’s back and stroking his arm gently. “Something I can do?”  
  
“We’ll try again later,” Castiel says. “It gets better.”  
  
“What, the internet told you that?”  
  
“Dean, I’m not in a good mood right now, perhaps you should stop talking.”  
  
“Okay.” Dean falls silent. His hand hasn’t stopped moving, though, lightly following its path up and down Castiel’s arm. A part of Castiel wants to bristle at the motion – he’s not some sort of  _pet_  – but Dean’s fingers are soothing in their slow repetition.   
  
Dean must read something in Castiel’s body language, because that hand slides up to cup Castiel’s neck. Warm lips follow, a firm pressure slightly eastward of Castiel’s chin, sucking what might turn into a ridiculous hickey if Dean keeps that up.  
  
“Dean.” Castiel tries to bat his hand away. “When I said we’ll try again, I didn’t mean right now.”  
  
“I know that.” Dean keeps kissing him anyway, rubbing his face against the soft hairs at the back of Castiel’s neck. “Just relax. No endgame here.”  
  
It’s only some time after Castiel finally rolls over and lets Dean kiss him senseless, that he realizes that they’re cuddling. It’s just so – so preposterous, the way their bodies are tucked against each other with no expectation of anything more than warmth and softness. Dean’s hands are gentle and calming as they dance across Castiel’s skin, sensuous and undemanding.  
  
Somewhere in the middle of it they pull the covers up over their heads, a blanket nest all around them, Dean’s body half-crouched over Castiel’s protectively.  
  
Anything Castiel can think of to say in this moment sounds inadequate even in his head. All he can offer, as pitiful as it is, is to drop a kiss to Dean’s nose and whisper, “You can be very nice, Dean.”  
  
Dean seems to think this is the most hilarious thing in the world. “Gee, thanks, Cas. You’re not so bad, yourself.”


	12. Dean gets a visitor

Most of the time, Dean hangs out with Cas at Cas’ place. Cas seems content with this, having no idea how badly Dean wants to bring Cas home. Dean wants to watch movies with Cas in the den, hang out with Cas in his room, show off all his stupid junk for Cas’ comment. Cas’ bed is great, but at this point Dean only has a picture in his mind of what Cas would look like under Dean’s covers, and he’s pretty sure the real thing would be even better.  
  
Getting Cas into his room and getting the sheets to smell like Cas is on Dean’s to-do list. It’s a noble goal, and one that he’s been contemplating for a while.  
  
This is another reason why it’s really irritating when he comes home one day, opens the door, and Gabriel is sitting on his bed.  
  
 _Gabriel_ , who is the completely wrong Reeves. (Though maybe Michael would’ve been creepier.) The other reason to get pissed is, of course, that there’s a freaking  _intruder_  in the house.  
  
“The hell are you doing here?” Dean barks. Then after a thought, “ _How_  the hell’d you get in here?”  
  
Gabriel wags his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smacks his lips, brightly-colored candy rolling on his tongue. “Nice underwear, by the way.”  
  
“Goddamn—” Dean rushes forward, and Gabriel whoops and rolls off the bed, darting around Dean’s hands until he bounces up into a crouch on the windowsill. Dean shakes his head and grumbles, “What do you want?”  
  
“I just wanted to say hi.” Gabriel’s grin is almost a sneer. “Hi!”  
  
“What?” Dean spots discarded candy wrappers on the floor and groans. “Why are you even – Cas said you were coming back in a couple of days.”  
  
“Yes, well.” Gabriel shrugs dismissively. He adjusts his position to sit down, stretching his legs out in front of him. He’s tanned and his hair bleached from the last Dean remembers of him, having had all sorts of adventures, no doubt. “Thought I’d come back before Michael, you know how it is. But enough about me, how about  _you_? Baby Cas tells me that he’s got a new Patrick Swayze.”  
  
“Get the hell out—” Dean tries to grab Gabriel’s shirt but the guy’s fast, snatching Dean’s wrist right out of the air. Dean starts; Gabriel’s grip is strong, stronger than the now-sharper edge of his smirk.  
  
“You know why I’m here, Dean,” Gabriel says.  
  
“You gonna give me the talk?” Dean tries not to sound defensive. He’s probably failing. “Look, man, I know you’re just watching out for your brother, Anna’s already—”  
  
“Anna’s a diplomat,” Gabriel says, waving her off. “Look, Ken-doll, here’s where it is. I can’t do anything about my bro’s long-standing and hilariously bad taste in dick, but I’m here to tell you that I’m watching you.” He mimes sunglasses, tongue clicking threateningly. “Just ‘cause Cas will forgive you anything doesn’t mean I will.”  
  
Dean’s hands are damp. He clenches them.   
  
“It’s one thing to break up as friends when you’re tiny and stupid,” Gabriel continues, “but you just  _had_  to go Big League this time, didn’t you? Could’t leave it alone.”  
  
“That’s between Cas and me.”  
  
“Is it?” Gabriel’s smile widens.  
  
“Yeah.” It’s not like Gabriel is telling Dean something he doesn’t already know and has churned round and round his head until he wants get off the ride and throw up. Dean knows exactly where Gabriel’s coming from, too; he’s a jackhole, but he’s a jackhole who looks out for his own, and if someone did to Sammy what Dean did – well, he’d understand.  
  
But they’re forgetting who they’re talking about.  
  
“You need to stop treating Cas like a kid,” Dean says. He even manages to sound firm. “He’s not that much younger than you, and gotta let him make his own decisions.”  
  
“Well, when it’s a stupid decision—”  
  
“I  _know_  it’s a stupid decision!” Dean barks. “You think I don’t? If he wants to leave me, I’ll let him! I swear to God, if he wants someone or something else, if he ever gets tired of me? I’ll walk away, I won’t even fight for it. I made a mistake, yes, but Cas – Cas is  _amazing_  and if I can make him happy? Hell yeah, I’m gonna give it my all.  
  
Gabriel blinks slowly. “Well, then,” he says calmly, “if you’re giving it your  _all_.”  
  
“Yeah, I am.”  
  
“Meh.” Gabriel purses his lips and turns away, and Dean knows that he’s got this one. The win is tiny, and Dean might be digging candy wrappers from obscure places in his room for days, but Dean feels like – like an adult, almost. He can almost see Cas’ smile, small and proud, no matter if that’s just wishful thinking or not.  
  
Then Gabriel declares ominously, “I’m still watching you,” before going out the window. Seriously, he  _goes out the window_ , and Dean gets there fast enough to watch Gabriel parkour the last couple of feet between the wall and tree onto the ground.  
  
Dean shouts at Gabriel’s retreating back, “Yeah, but I’m still taller than you!”


	13. Crowley goes for a walk

It’s Crowley’s suggestion that his latest client meet him at the park in the godforsaken early hours of a Saturday morning. Besides the natural privacy offered by the environment, the lack of screeching children and babbling peons is also good for Growly’s stress levels.  
  
The other kid double-takes. “Your dog’s name is Growly?”  
  
Crowley raises an eyebrow. “How about I tell him to eat your face?”  
  
“Hey, man, I’m just—” He squawks when Growly surges forward, barking enthusiastically until Crowley tugs at the leash. The kid flails, babbling, “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, good dog!”  
  
“That, he is.” It takes but a tap of Crowley’s heel and Growly is sitting neat and proper, a polite bastion at Crowley’s side. He does so make a good companion on these outings, and not only because he adds a certain je nais se quoi to usually boring proceedings.  
  
Today’s is certainly boring. This child is a sophomore, terrified of disappointing his parents and willing to fork out a little lunch money for the sake of better grades. Such easy trades are essential in keeping gears moving, of course, but oh how Crowley prefers more interesting people. Like Ava and Jake, perhaps; ambitious freshmen who crave things beyond their station are always ripe for good fun.  
  
But today it’s just a term paper.  
  
“Off with you,” Crowley says, once the kid has coughed up his payment. “Before ugly gets contagious.”  
  
It’s a slow morning, which is why it’s a petty but understandable delight when Castiel calls. Crowley’s already on the slow walk back home, Growly trotting dutifully at his side, when a familiar yet not-oft heard ring tone fills the air. Castiel barely ever called him even when they were fucking, but each time had, without fail, been for something important, the whore.   
  
“ _Crowley._ ”  
  
“The dulcet tones of my favorite Reeves.” Crowley grins. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“ _I would like to buy some lubricant from you._ ”  
  
Crowley lets his eyes drop shut for a moment while he composes the mental image in his head. The elder Winchester isn’t really his type, but there’s something to be said about corrupting straight boys to the worst of their potential. Castiel would excel at that, Crowley thinks. “Hmm, yes. You want your favorite, I’m assuming?”  
  
“ _Yes, please. Two bottles, perhaps? I tried looking myself, but—_ ”  
  
“I told you no one stocks it here,” Crowley scoffs. He adjusts the phone into the space between his chin and shoulder, and pulls out his notebook. “You sure two bottles will be enough? I would expect you to be plowing prime Winchester ass every free moment you have.”  
  
“ _Two bottles will be fine, Crowley._ ”  
  
“Oh, someone’s tight-lipped. What, you’re not going to do me the pleasure of regaling the sordid details?” Crowley laughs; he can practically hear Castiel’s glare over the phone. “I’d give you a discount if you let me watch.”  
  
“ _Or I could tell you that Gabriel’s in town and will be here until New Year’s._ ”  
  
Crowley stills. “No, he isn’t.”  
  
“ _He’s staying at the B &B just up from the Roadhouse, I’m sure you’re familiar with it. Didn’t want to stay under the same roof as long as Michael’s around. Now, when may I expect the lubricant?_”  
  
Crowley clears his throat, focusing on the negotiation at hand. “Do you want condoms with that?”  
  
“ _That’s not necessary, thank you._ ”  
  
“Not even the ribbed ones?” Crowley can’t help letting out a little sigh at the thought. “Those are fantastic, nothing but party in the back with all those inches of extra—”  
  
Castiel coughs. “ _That’s fine, but no._ ”  
  
Crowley grins. “Monogamy’s made you dull, Cas.”  
  
“ _Oddly enough, I’m fine with that, too. Going back to my order, may I have a delivery date?_ ” Castiel makes a pleased noise at the estimation Crowley gives him, and then says, “ _I hope you have a good Christmas, Crowley. And don’t tell Gabriel I told you._ ”  
  
Crowley grins. “I love you, too, darling.”


	14. Dean and Cas get the hang of it, part 1

“Do you have a fantasy?”  
  
Dean puts his fork down. Cas is peering at him, solemn contemplation in his scowl, so this is a real question. Cas starts to repeat it, so Dean cuts him with a quick, “League or lit?”  
  
“Sexual.” That’s Cas for you, disarmingly direct when he wants to be. The diner is busy enough that their conversation’s background noise to everyone else, but Cas still takes care to keep his voice down so only Dean can hear. “I was just wondering.”  
  
“Uh,” Dean says slowly, “we’ve already done it.”  
  
Cas’ eyebrows go up. “We have?” After a moment, “Oh, your car.”  
  
“Bingo.” Dean matches Cas’ smile with one of his own. “Though I’m still trying to figure out if we can – uh – in the front seat.”  
  
Cas, bless his heart, actually considers this. “That’d be a tight fit, but we could try.”  
  
“Cool. That’s not why you’re asking, though.” Dean’s grin widens when Cas suddenly looks shifty, gaze dropping to the near-empty mug of hot chocolate in front of him. A coy Cas is a Cas that has  _ideas_. “Spit it out.”  
  
“I know the season’s over but...” Cas licks his lips, the pink of his tongue almost obscene. “Could you wear your jacket?”  
  
“My jacket?” Dean echoes. Cas shrugs, unperturbed by his confusion. “Sure, we can try that. Did you mean today?”  
  
“If you’re up for it.” Cas rolls his eyes at Dean’s snicker. “Pun unintended, Dean.”  
  
“You’re on,” Dean says. “When we go home, I’ll just grab my jacket and—”  
  
“I’ll message you,” Cas says quickly. “You go to your house and wait. When I’m ready I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Ah.” Dean tries to clamp down the anticipation settling low in his belly. “You sure you don’t want me to help you?”  
  
“Yes,” Cas says calmly, like he hasn’t just metaphorically shoved a condom and bottle of lube into Dean’s hands.   
  
Cas knows exactly what he’s doing by bringing up this topic here and now, when they’re just finishing up dessert. Going out together in public is awesome except for where Dean can’t just grab Cas whenever he wants, which means that the conversation has to proceed to its conclusion with no groping whatsoever.  
  
They have to talk about these things, which is a little lame in how it ruins the spontaneity Dean’s used to, but he knows how important it is. They’ve only gone the full nine gay yards a couple of times, but after that first disastrous try, they’d both agreed to be very thorough and very careful until they got the hang of it. Not that Dean would’ve minded if they didn’t, since there are plenty of other things he and Cas can do together. (Dean’s going to get a fucking gold star for blowjobs, for example.)   
  
But they did get there, persistence paying off when during try number three, they’d finally gotten Cas to come. Well, technically, Cas had gotten  _himself_ to come, grinding like a boss in Dean’s lap until he’d stiffened, tossed his head back and hissed, “Yes.”   
  
On one hand, Dean hadn’t been doing much beyond holding Cas’ dick and trying to not think sexy thoughts. On the other hand, he still feels like he deserves a fucking medal for not going off that time, because the clench around his cock had been  _insane_.   
  
Yes, Dean now knows what it feels like to be inside another dude when they’re coming. As if the noises Cas makes aren’t bad enough.  
  
Dean still remembers how he’d struggled to hold on until Cas came back to himself, and how Cas’ expression had been fond and familiar when he’d leaned in for a kiss. Dean’s own response had been clumsy against the smooth, gentle nips of Cas’ mouth, which Cas had found hilarious because he’s an asshole.  
  
“That was good.” Cas’ smile had been one of glee and satisfaction. “It’s your turn. How do you want me?”  
  
The answer had been: on his back, Dean between Cas’ legs, Cas’ hands above his head to hold himself steady. Aside from the fact that Cas is fucking sexy spread out like that, it’d also been an opportunity for Dean to get some learning done. Guys’ bodies are different, et cetera, so Dean had taken the chance to lean over him, one hand under Cas’ knee to hold him open, and ask, “This okay?”  
  
Cas had made a sound of dried-up laughter. “Knock yourself out.”  
  
Practice did what they say it does. Since then Dean’s been watchful of every response he gets out of Cas, is always makes sure to ask what feels good and what doesn’t, and is still trying to figure out the best angles to find Cas’ prostate.   
  
Cas tends be amused by Dean’s focus, and had one time said that it’s not a competition, but Dean knows that it is. He won’t say that to Cas’ face, of course, but it  _is_.  
  
Cas has: few friends, never really dated, and slept around with a couple of guys.  
  
Dean wants: to be the friend he should’ve been from the start, show Cas how awesome dating is, and be the freakiest goddamn freak in the sheets he can be.   
  
Dean can’t say he’s got the first two in the bag yet, but he’s got an advantage (if he can call it an "advantage") in that both of them have little experience with this kind of relationship that blends baggage and friendship and winds it in knots. They’re figuring it out together, sketching out the way they’re gonna be one step at a time.   
  
But this kind of sex? Cas knows. More than Dean does, anyway. It’s not like Dean hasn’t noticed how Cas has taken the lead almost every time they’ve been together, guiding Dean patiently and never pushing too hard.   
  
Dean wishes it didn’t occasionally make him feel inadequate, because he actually likes being able to let Cas take the reins.   
  
Which is probably where Cas got the bright idea to bring up the topic right now, during a goddamn date where the closest physical contact Dean will allow himself is the press of his foot against Cas’ calf.  
  
“Just the jacket?” Dean scrapes his fork along his plate, picking up the last of the crumbs and cream. “Is that like, a locker room fantasy or something?”  
  
Cas considers this. “Something like that, yes.”  
  
“I’ve got better jackets, you know.”  
  
“It’s not how attractive the jacket makes you look,” Cas says thoughtfully. “It’s… I’ve seen you wearing it for a while. It’s part of this picture in my head I have of you.”  
  
Dean starts in surprise. “Am I an asshole in this picture?”  
  
“Oh, no.” Cas makes a wistful, distracted sound. “You’re powerful.”  
  
“Ah.” Dean puts his fork down and grabs his wallet. “I’m done, are you done? Because I’m done.”  
  
Just because they’d finally figured out the magic of using lots and lots of lube doesn’t mean they do it all the time. (Dean may have thought that was how it was between guys before, but whatever.)   
  
They still do other things, and some of it has nothing to do with bumping uglies at all. Like on New Year’s, when they took the Impala out to the abandoned mine and listened to music until Cas fell asleep tucked in Dean’s jacket (the leather, non-school sanctioned one).   
  
Or the time when Dean  _finally_  got Cas in his room, the one weekend where Dad went off for something work-related and Mom was like, “Invite Cas over, if you want” which is exactly what Dean did. Cas had spent the entire dinner making stoic, grateful faces at everything from Mom’s cooking to Sam’s chattering to the way Dean shoved stuff onto his plate, and afterward they went up to Dean’s room and didn’t even take off their clothes. Cas just ended up poking around Dean’s things, enthralled in a way that still makes Dean embarrassed for reasons he doesn’t want to think about, and then they’d played Risk because Cas remembered how Dean had brought it up in conversation once.  
  
It was totally unsexy, but so worth it for the way Cas had gotten more and more riled up as the game went on, and then had to be forcibly dragged away and distracted with Mom’s apple pie.  
  
So, yes, some nights are for board games and apple pie. Other nights, like tonight, are for Cas dropping Dean off at his house after a perfectly decent date and whispering, “You can touch yourself while you’re waiting,” in his ear before walking off.  
  
“It’s not a party if I’m not there!” Dean yells at Cas’ retreating back.   
  
Dean had been telling truth when he’d said that he’d fantasized about having Cas in the car. Well, having Cas  _with_  the car would be more exact, since he totally counts the time he’d had Cas spread out on the hood and sucked him off. (He’s not kidding about getting a gold star for blowjobs.)  
  
But while Dean understands fantasies, he doesn’t know what to make about the letter jacket. Cas had understood Dean’s Impala thing straight away because there are some things that are predictable, but the jacket? If anything, Dean would’ve thought that it would remind Cas of how they used to be.   
  
Cas may have worn the jacket himself a couple of times, but that’s… different.   
  
No point thinking about it too much, though, since he’s going to find out soon. He spends a couple of minutes half-heartedly tidying up his room, goes downstairs to bug Sam only to find that Sam’s  _out_ , what the hell, and then heads back to his room to jerk off a little. Just a little, and only because he’s already thinking about Cas wearing his clothes.  
  
His phone buzzes.  _You can come over now._  
  
Dean goes and, once again, Cas surprises him.   
  
It’s a good surprise, though. As soon as Dean opens the door to Cas’ room he hears a rushed, “Close it quickly.” Dean obeys, turns, and his mouth goes dry.  
  
Cas is buck naked. He’d been lying on the bed but is now rising up on to his knees, dick swaying half-hard between his legs when he moves. Cas has one hand behind his back as he works himself open — Jesus  _Christ_ , he has no clue what he looks like.  
  
“Oh, okay,” Dean says shakily. His feet aren’t working properly but he manages to approach the bed, knees knocking the mattress when he gets there. “How do you…?”  
  
Cas shuffles forward until he’s close enough to rest a hand on Dean’s collarbone. His gaze roves appreciatively down Dean’s body, which isn’t something new by any means but  _damn_  if it doesn’t go straight to where Dean’s twitching in his briefs. Cas’ mouth goes open a little, breathless sound slipping past his lips as he drinks in whatever it is he sees.  
  
Dean’s itching to take the jacket off, but he manages to keep his hands on Cas’ waist.  
  
“It’s after a game,” Cas says in a low voice. “You’ve performed very well, and the team’s won.”  
  
“We don’t usually wear the jackets immediately after a—“ Dean laughs when Cas smacks him lightly. “Maybe it’s an after party?”  
  
“Fine,” Cas huffs, “you’re at an after party. You are the hero of the hour. You’re being celebrated. People are fawning over you.” It must show on Dean’s face that he doesn’t understand, so Cas leans in and brushes his mouth over Dean’s. “Don’t think about the other things. Think about the satisfaction, the pride.”  
  
“Okay.” Dean closes his eyes briefly, pulling out memories of the adrenaline rush, the cheers, the laughter. “Yeah, okay.”  
  
“Girls come on to you.” Cas trails his fingers down Dean’s chest, then tug firmly on his belt. “They want you.”  
  
“Dude.” Dean looks down to where Cas is dragging Dean’s belt out from its loops. The subtle grace of Cas’ fingers is hypnotic, and Dean can’t turn away from how they pop Dean’s pants open and slowly,  _slowly_ , push through his underwear to find his cock. “Why’s there got to be girls in this fantasy?”  
  
“Exactly,” Cas exclaims. “You don’t want them, because you have me.”  
  
Dean’s eyes snap up to Cas’.  
  
His eyes are now the kind of dark that Dean would willingly drown himself in. If it was hot before it’s scorching now, and Dean finds himself nodding slowly. Cas continues, “I’m your reward. You’re a hero today, Dean, and this is yours.” Cas slides a condom on to Dean’s cock, holding his gaze the entire time. “Can you picture that?”  
  
“All this is mine?” Dean pushes his palms up Cas’ chest, around his sides, down his back to the dip above his ass. Cas nods, and Dean’s cock jumps in his hand. “So how’s this prize work?”  
  
“Hard and fast.” Cas blinks suddenly, and says in a more regular voice, “Is this all right, Dean? You’ll let me know if it’s—”  
  
“No, we’re good.” Dean leans forward and pushes one hand down into the heat between Cas’ ass cheeks. “So I’m still captain, right? And I get to have you because I’ve done a spectacular job?”  
  
Cas gasps softly, though Dean can’t tell whether it’s a response to his words or the fact that Dean’s got a fingertip inside him. “Yes. Yes, but like this.” Cas pulls away to turn, and then he’s on his hands and knees.  
  
“Jesus.” Dean almost doesn’t want to touch him. There’s a filthy kind of gorgeous in how Cas cants his ass up just for Dean like – like some kind of deluxe buffet spread, special customer (singular) only. There’s something slightly unnerving about this, too, how Cas is pressing some hidden nerve inside Dean he hadn’t known had been there.  
  
“Don’t bother stretching me,” Cas says, looking back at Dean. “It’s done. Just take me.”  
  
Dean puts a shaky hand on Cas’ upper thigh, squeezing the soft flesh and watching the way it makes Cas’ cock jump. “You sure?” he asks, because prep has been their motto. Prep and prep, and some more prep.  
  
“I’ve done everything,” Cas insists. “I promise you, I’m ready. Just put it in. And don’t remove your clothes.”  
  
“What?” Dean had just been about to take his jeans off.  
  
“Leave it on.” Cas turns his head, the angle only enough for Dean to make out one eye and the edge of a smile. “I mean, push your pants down as much as to make yourself comfortable, of course, but… it’d be nice if you were mostly clothed.”   
  
Why is that hot? Dean doesn’t have a fucking clue. There’s a rush in the contrasts of their bodies – Dean brushes his sleeves experimentally down Cas’ naked back, enthralled when Cas shivers. Cas is vulnerable and powerful and so goddamn trusting in how he’s allowed himself to ask for this. Cas lets out a shaky, expectant sound when he feels Dean’s cock nudging at his entrance.  
  
“Brace yourself.” Dean takes his cock in hand and pushes.   
  
Cas hadn’t lied about being ready. He opens up for Dean easy as sin, wet and stretched as Dean slowly, carefully buries himself. They’ve advanced past the stage of painful friction to this: Cas moaning when he gets what he wants, the grip around Dean’s cock just tight enough to be delicious.  
  
“Oh, yes, more,” Cas breathes. “Dean, you can move.”  
  
Dean doesn’t get to see Cas’ face when they fuck like this, but there’s so much other things to enjoy. He gets to watch Cas’ thighs shake when Dean picks up the pace, the way Cas flails a little before he gets a good grip on the sheets, the way – oh  _God_  – the way Cas’ hole grips and moves with the shaft forcing it open.  
  
“Winchester,” Cas says. “Please. Captain Winchester, please.”  
  
“Hey, man,” Dean says breathlessly, “you take what I give you, right?” Cas makes a shocked sound, and Dean knows he’s struck gold. “So you stay down there and take it.”  
  
Usually it takes longer than this to get Cas going when there’s a dick in him, but he’s already making those infernal noises that Dean’s gotten addicted to. Cas has got to be feeling the scrape of Dean’s clothes whenever he shoves forward, and Dean even gets a shrill yelp out of him when he finds Cas’ prostate.   
  
“Oh God,” Cas gasps. “Dean. Dean?” He tries to look over his shoulder and fails. “Dean, can you hold me down?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Hold me down.”  
  
Dean tries to comply, bending forward to get a palm on Cas’ back, but Cas pushes back firmly. Dean tries again, and again Cas rises up, resisting, and that’s when it clicks.  
  
“If you’re gonna be that way…” Dean’s still inside Cas, still thrusting to the excellent rhythm he’s got going, but he can multi-task. He covers Cas’ body with his own and pushes, breath rushing past Cas’ lips when his arms give out under him. Cas turns his face against the sheets – his eyes shut tight and mouth open – and Dean drops a lewd kiss to his chin, biting the skin there teasingly.  
  
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Dean says. Cas moves his hands, trying to get leverage to push back but Dean catches him before he can get there, a hand on the space between Cas’ shoulder blades to keep him down.  
  
Through it all Dean keeps on fucking him, ignoring the rhythmic clench around his dick where Cas is tightening down.  
  
“Dean,” Cas says desperately, “please.” He tries again to flail, but Dean grabs both his wrists and pins them firmly to the small of Cas’ back. “ _Oh._ ”  
  
Cas jerks, trembling, and tries one last harsh shove back at Dean that doesn’t get him anywhere. Cas is trapped by Dean’s hands and cock and body, and that’s what sends him over the edge, helpless sound coming from the back of his throat as he comes without a freaking touch to his own dick.   
  
Dean has only so much control, really. He manages to keep Cas down for a couple more seconds before he’s coming, too. He snaps his hips hard once, twice, and then he’s falling, growling, burying himself in Cas as far as he’ll go. It’s just so stupidly good, Cas so hot and tight and hungry in a way that makes Dean just want to do everything. Give everything.  _Be_  everything.  
  
“Oh my holy God,” Dean tries to say once it’s subsided, though it comes out as a useless garbling noise. He manages to move his weight to one side so he doesn’t crush Cas, but that’s about as far as he can go. He can only grunt when Cas slides out from under him, totally useless while Cas sets him down gently and helps tug his jacket off.  
  
Dean sighs when cool air reaches his neck and arms. His eyes are closed but he can hear the rustle of Cas moving around, though where Cas has the energy for it, Dean has no idea. When Cas nudges his shoulder Dean rolls over easily, murmuring a weak  _thanks_  when he feels the touch of warm, damp cloth to his crotch where Cas is cleaning him up.  
  
He only opens his eyes when Cas is done. His jeans are off somewhere, his dick tucked back safely into his briefs, and Cas himself has crawled in close next to Dean.  
  
“Hello,” Cas says quietly. His face is very close to Dean’s. Close enough for Dean to brush his nose over Cas’ cheek, and for Cas to return the favor by kissing him softly. These are slow kisses, completely unlike what they’ve just done but still somehow the perfect bookend.  
  
Dean pulls away to adjust their arms and legs, Cas apparently determined to be a limpet in fitting himself as close as he can to Dean’s side. “Was good?” Dean asks.  
  
“The  _best_.” Cas darts in for quick, fierce kiss, but pulls away when Dean thinks he’s going to deepen it. “That was amazing, thank you.” He shakes his head in disbelief, and Dean finally regains enough brain power to recognize the awe in Cas’ eyes. “You’re amazing.”  
  
Dean wants to roll an easy  _yeah_  off his tongue, but it catches in his throat. He must be dreaming. He must’ve fallen asleep while waiting for Cas, and this is all just happening in his head.   
  
He wants Cas to look at him  _just like this_  all the damn time, but when it actually happens, he doesn’t know what to do. Hidden just beneath the goddamn glow in his chest is the whispering anxiety that anything he says could be the wrong thing to say, so he shouldn’t say anything at all.  
  
“You can take a nap, if you’re tired,” Cas suggests. He reaches up, brushing Dean’s hair with such tenderness that Dean’s teeth feel on edge. “I’ll wake you up before it gets too late.” Then he snuggles down, face pressed to the space at Dean’s neck.  
  
The only response Dean can muster is to wrap an arm around Cas’ shoulders and hold on.


	15. Dean and Cas get the hang of it, Part 2

“Ah, Winchester the Elder.” Crowley’s voice gives Dean goosebumps, swear to God. “Thought I might find you here.”   
  
Dean snorts. “Superb detective work there, Crowley.” He sighs when Crowley makes like a doorstopper and wedges himself firmly against the locker. “What do you want?”  
  
“ _I_  am going to do you a favor.” Before Dean can get out the natural  _thanks but no thanks_ , Crowley’s pushing on with, “See, Castiel is smart enough to continue procuring supplies from me, but I’m concerned that he’s been… conservative. Which is, frankly speaking,  _unfair_  to you, so I thought I’d see you myself.”  
  
“I’m ten seconds away from putting this door in your face.”  
  
“You know what I’m talking about,” Crowley says, sounding almost wistful. “Some clichés prove themselves to be true, don’t they? No one’d believe me if I told them how he just throws your ankles over your head and has his wicked way with you, would they? So isn’t it nice that you and I can bond like this?”  
  
Dean frowns at him.  
  
If it were anyone else, that grin would’ve disappeared, or at least been dialed down. But this is Crowley, and he merely does a stupid thing with his eyebrows and says, “Yes, scintillating conversation. Frankly, I know what you need and you should take these—” he drops a little packet in Dean’s hands, “—as a sample. I have enough confidence in my wares, and I know you and your ass will thank me.” He slaps Dean on the arm. “Have fun, doll.”  
  
Dean watches Crowley saunter off and then looks down at the so-called free trial in his hand. He vaguely acknowledges how stupid he’d have to be to put anything Crowley gives him anywhere near his dick, but that’s just one clunky thought among a whole of others trying to vie for his attention.  
  
Crowley’s unnerving at the best of times, a part of Cas’ history that Dean doesn’t and probably never will understand. But he sees things, knows things. Not that Dean thinks Cas told the guy anything about their sex life. They’re not even friends. Cas said so.  
  
Still, Dean’s missing something here.  
  
Cas has his club keeping him in after school, so Dean gets an extra couple of hours sinking into it. Rolling Crowley’s words around his head, toying with the condom that he ultimately tosses into the trash, and then trying his very fucking best to not think about Cas being with Crowley in the Biblical sense.  
  
Dean’s hanging out in the Reeves den when Cas finally gets home. Cas knows he’s down there, and trudges down with conspicuously heavy footsteps to join Dean in front of the TV. It’s been a long day for him, then, because Cas wordlessly tosses his bag aside and throws his feet over Dean’s lap before even grunting out a, “Hello.”  
  
“Cas.” Dean lets his hand fall to Cas’ feet, pulling off his shoes and dropping them to the floor. “Anything bad?”  
  
“No,” Cas says, voice muffled by the arm thrown across his face. “Just tired.”  
  
Dean gives it a couple of minutes. Waits until the show goes into commercials and Cas’ breathing has evened out.   
  
“Hey, Cas, I got a question. When you were with Crowley, did you, uh… did you guys go all the way?”  
  
Cas pulls his hand down and fixes Dean with an incredulous stare. “Excuse me?”  
  
“I was just wondering.”  
  
“Dean,” Cas says slowly, “you do know I’d already had sex before getting together with you, right?” He squirms under Dean’s scrutiny, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s – I don’t like this topic.”  
  
“C’mon, it’s not a hard question.” It feels more important now, the need to know bubbling over under Dean’s skin. “I mean, just… I’m curious. Did you, you know, did you top him?”  
  
Cas’ eyebrows go up. “And you need to know this, why? Do I ask you if you ate out your past girlfriends?”  
  
That’s just perfect. Dean hadn’t planned for a fight but it looks like it’s going to continue to be that kind of day. Maybe Dean should have waited for another time, when Cas isn’t tired and Dean has a better idea of where he’s going with this, but he’s also of the opinion that putting things off like that doesn’t work well for them. “It’s just a yes or no question, Cas, why are you being so annoying?”  
  
“Because you’re asking annoying questions that I don’t like.” Cas sighs. “Dean, why do you want to know?”  
  
“I thought you liked what we’ve been doing.” Dean watches confusion pass over Cas’ face. He’s still got Cas’ feet between his hands, and he squeezes the ankles firmly. “We’ve been having a good time, yeah? At least I thought we were. And I thought you liked it! Then Crowley comes along and says stuff like—”  
  
“You’re talking to Crowley? Why are you listening to anything Crowley says?”  
  
“That’s not the point! We’ve been…” No one can blame Dean for not being able to roll all them fancy gay terms off his tongue that well yet. “You’ve been on the bottom all the times we’ve been together. And I thought that’s what you wanted. I mean, some guys are like that, right? They just enjoy it that way?”  
  
“And I’m one of them!” Cas laughs. He starts to reach for him, starting in surprise when Dean flinches. “Dean, I enjoy our shared moments together a great deal.” He purposely drops his voice, the low timbre almost a physical caress that would have Dean pouncing on him if it were any other time. “Haven’t I made it clear how much I enjoy it?”  
  
“But you do it the other way with Crowley.”  
  
Cas’ mouth drops open. “Dean, are you jealous?”  
  
That’s part of it, sure. That’s the  _neatest_  part of it, in fact, because it’s normal to be jealous of the previous person. But there are other things wrapped around that statement, a tangle in Dean’s head that he doesn’t have the fucking words for because he’s always counted on everyone else around him to be smart where he isn’t.   
  
“How can you be jealous?” Cas says incredulously. “It’s not Crowley I’m in love with, how can you even compare yourself to him?”  
  
“But why…” Dean’s ignoring that other part, no way he’s going to even think about what Cas just said between those lines, “but why didn’t you ask for it? Cas, you’re better at this than me. I’m following your lead and that’s cool, and all this time I’m thinking that I’m doing what you want, only now there’s something you wanted and you didn’t even ask me for it? What the hell is that?”  
  
“Dean, I don’t ask for anything because I already  _have_  everything.” Cas shakes his head. “I’m  _with_  you. That’s… I never would have dared to even want that much. I’m sorry if I haven’t I shown you how grateful I am, but I can fix that—”  
  
Dean catches Cas’ hand before he can touch him. Cas’ hands are distracting. His mouth and eyes and whole freaking body are distracting, and Dean won’t be able to figure this out if he can’t keep a-hold of that thread.   
  
The thing is, Cas has no idea what’s going on here and Dean’s not that much better.   
  
Dean sometimes gets a phantom twinge in his knuckles. It’s just in his head, he knows, but that doesn't make it feel any better when it pops up in the quiet moments, like when Cas is asleep next to him, or when Cas is staring off into the middle distance in class, or when Cas hesitates a second too long whenever anyone asks how they got together.  
  
“Were you afraid to ask me?” Dean says.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Because it’s really gay, right? To take a dick up the pooper?” Dean has no idea where the words are coming from, but they feel right, they make sense. “So you – you thought that if you – you were afraid I’d say no?”  
  
Cas’ gaze flickers, and that’s really all it takes.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas!” Dean sputters. “What have we been talking about? We’re supposed to be honest!”  
  
“It’s a  _position_ , Dean!” Cas shouts back, pulling his feet away and sitting up angrily. “Are we seriously arguing over this? Dean, what matters most is that I get to have you, everything else is just dressing.”  
  
“It matters because you’re holding back!” Dean pauses, sudden flush of realization almost a punch in the face. The fact is, Crowley got to give Cas something that Dean hasn’t, and that’s  _wrong_. “I’m giving you everything and you’re holding back from me.”  
  
“I’m scared!” Cas double-takes, startled, as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
Cas meant it exactly like that. (Who can blame him, really. The first time Cas took a chance with him, Dean was the genius who punched him in the face.)  
  
“I don’t want to talk right now.” Cas is up on his feet, flustered and pulling his bag up to his chest like a security blanket. Dean makes a grab for him but Cas darts out of reach, hissing, “I said I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going out.”  
  
“This is your house!”   
  
“I’m going elsewhere!”  
  
“Oh, come on—” There should be something else Dean can say to stop him, but he’s gone up the stairs, two steps at a time even in bare feet. Cas doesn’t even slam the door at the top, because it’s his door and he knows better.  
  
Dean doesn’t even feel all that angry. He feels strangely accomplished – he knew that’d been coming for a while, even if he hadn’t been able to guess how it’d play out – and almost high, as if he’d just stepped off a rollercoaster.   
  
And, just like a rollercoaster, it takes a while for terror to sink in.  
  
He grabs his phone, typing out the message:  _talk later?_  
  
He doesn’t even know whether Cas took his phone with him, but a reply comes through.  _Okay. After._  
  
Dean isn’t twelve years old anymore, but his thumbs shake a little when he sends:  _still picking u up tmrw, right?_  
  
 _Yes._  
  
One more, just to be sure.  _we’re still together, right?_  
  
In the interminably long seconds that follow, Dean hunches over his phone, staring as hard as he can at the little screen and trying his best to ignore how his heart has wedged tight in his throat.  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Dean exhales.


	16. Dean and Cas get the hang of it, Part 3

For lunch, Dean insists Cas take him to one of his typical haunts around the school. Cas picks the roof of the main building – Dean didn’t even know there was access – deftly leading the way around Victor’s crew and teachers to get them both there.   
  
“Dude, how do you even know how to get up here?” Dean takes in the sights, hand shielding his eyes from the glare. “Do I even want to know?”  
  
“I had detention up here once or twice.” Cas shrugs at Dean’s expression, and gestures for Dean to sit with him.   
  
There are some old boxes here, set up near the railing overlooking the surprisingly not sore on the eyes view of the parking lot and beyond. Dean joins Cas in sitting there, but doesn’t feel like getting down to lunch yet.  
  
Cas seems okay. Not overly cheerful in a blatant attempt to compensate, but still a little distant.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says before he can lose his nerve, “sorry I bugged you about Crowley. That wasn’t cool.” A reaction to that would be nice but unnecessary; Dean still doesn’t expect the way Cas’ face freaking lights up. The visible relief and pleasure on Cas’ face bounces right back at Dean, knotting tight in his throat and thickening his tongue.  
  
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says. The floodgates must be open, because he’s laughing under his breath and smiling at Dean. “I appreciate it, honestly. It’s kind of funny… I  _was_  a little upset yesterday and the thing is, nowadays when I’m upset I go to you. Only I couldn’t go to you right then because that would have negated the whole idea.”  
  
Dean nods mutely, because he is an idiot and still doesn’t know what to do Cas says shit like that. And he  _keeps doing it_ , like it’s no big deal that someone would willingly want Dean to be their anchor, holy hell.  
  
“Do you still want to talk about it?” Cas asks. “I’ve been thinking about it, actually. What you were asking about.”  
  
“Uh, sure.”  
  
“It’s like this,” Cas starts, almost excitedly, as though he's been thinking of nothing but this since he'd stormed out yesterday. “I didn’t actually realize what I was doing at first. I mean, it wasn’t a conscious choice until it’d been a while and then, I thought, why challenge what’s been working for us? You’ve only ever been with girls. Being with someone in a male body is already something completely new to you, so I thought I’d let you take the, um, the associated position.”  
  
“What, like a girl can’t poke me if she wants to?”  
  
Cas makes a face. “You know what I mean, Dean.”  
  
“And I think it’s stupid! That’s an assumption, and it’s crap.”  
  
“Is it?”   
  
“You didn’t ask me!” Dean takes a breath, forcing his voice back down. “You could have asked, Cas. I’ve been getting used to the idea in my head of being with a guy before I ever even… Before me and you even happened. Of course I thought about it. About doing that.”  
  
Cas frowns a little. “Then why didn’t  _you_  ask?” When Dean gapes, Cas continues, almost kindly, “It’s okay to not want it.”  
  
“I don’t know if I want it! Yes, it kinda scares me, but – but you make everything else so good, Cas. And I trust you, except for where... geez. Except for where this is something about you that  _I didn’t know_ , and I had to find out about it from Crowley. Do you understand  _that_?”  
  
Cas stares at him for a long moment, and then nods. “Yes, I understand that, but… Dean, you don’t know everything about me. I don’t know everything about you, either.”  
  
“Ask me,” Dean says fiercely. “Right now, ask me. True or false it if you have to.”  
  
“All right.” Cas cocks his head. “You’re hungry right now, true or false.”  
  
“False!” Dean snaps. He looks down at the packed lunch in his lap. “Okay, fine, true.”  
  
Cas really is taking Dean’s offer seriously, though, gazing off into the distance thoughtfully while they get on with their meal. Dean chews a little harder on his sandwich than he means to, but he feels surprisingly better at having gotten that out. Talking is still hard. Talking is what people have to  _make_ Dean do, but at this point it’s clear that Cas would never have helped Dean get there.   
  
What the hell kind of world is this where  _Dean_  is marginally more emotionally mature than his partner. ( _Marginally._ )  
  
“Okay, I’m ready,” Cas says at last. He's chewing on the thin straw of his juice box, a nervous tic to get him moving forward. “You’re angry, but you’re angrier at yourself than at me. True or false?”  
  
Dean groans. Cas falls silent, deciding now of all times to be patient and watchful while Dean tries to decide if he regrets putting this idea in Cas’ head.  
  
“True,” Dean grits out. “You might be busy thinking I’m gonna be comparing you to girls I’ve been with, as if you won’t measure up to that. But it goes the other way, too. You’ve been with guys who know way more than me, and when I think about you and Crowley, I don’t think I can measure up either.”  
  
Cas starts to laugh, then stops. “Oh, you’re serious. Dean, that’s just—”  
  
“Don’t tell me I’m being stupid, okay? That’s what’s in my head right now, I can’t help it.” Dean takes a deep breath. He’d been tugging at this thread since they’d started this, and there might never be a better time to bring it up than now. “Cas, I messed up before. You remember that, true or false?”  
  
Cas’ mouth falls open. Dean half-wishes for a lie, but is relieved when Cas admits, “True. But you’re not the person you were then. I’m not the person I was then, goodness knows. We’re better now, I think.”  
  
“So you’re not waiting for me to screw up?”  
  
“Oh God, false!” Cas gasps. “False, Dean. If anyone would be screwing up, it’d be me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
They stare at each other. Dean looks at Cas and Cas looks at Dean, and someone should laugh awkwardly at any moment now to break the snare, but no one does. Funnily enough, the silence isn’t oppressive. If anything, it makes the world feel  _clear_ , like all the arguments have fallen away to leave this one, simple moment, where they’re both boneheaded idiots and actually  _know it_.  
  
“Houston,” Dean says, “I think we’ve got the problem.” Cas's mouth quirks in amused agreement, straw jumping at the corner of his mouth.  
  
The yearning to touch Cas hasn’t gone away yet. Dean thought that it would after a while because they’re all only human. But now he thinks that for it to go away it would need them to get to a point where they can take it for granted. And despite all the new territory they’ve conquered over the past couple of months, taking this for granted isn’t one of them.  
  
Hence, when Dean’s struck with the urge to touch Cas, he usually goes for it – barring an audience. They may be in school but there’s no one here right now, so Dean reaches over and pulls the straw from Cas’ lips. Cas starts, though he only gets as far as blinking at Dean in surprise before he’s being kissed.  
  
Dean didn’t plan this, but it’s still an awesome idea. Especially with how Cas exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate like he doesn’t want to break the spell of the moment, and then parts his lips and  _melts_.  
  
They hold each other like that, kissing quietly and softly until Cas smartly pulls away before it can get too hot ‘n heavy. Cas still tucks himself against Dean, though, hands twisted into Dean’s jacket and head resting on Dean’s shoulder. Dean runs a hand through Cas’ hair in some half-baked attempt to distract himself from the half-hard-on he’s not supposed to have.  
  
“Well,” Dean says wryly, “now we know we have something else we have in common.”  
  
“But there's also...” Cas' thumb trails Dean's chin idly. “You haven’t forgiven yourself.”  
  
Dean stills. In this pause is another opportunity to lie, or maybe to just weasel away from sounding like a moron. Dean sighs. “True.”  
  
Cas tightens his hold on Dean’s jacket. “You make so happy.” Dean sputters on nothing, neck flushing hot where Cas is nuzzling him. “I wish I had better words to explain how happy you make me, and I wish you could let the past go.”  
  
“Have  _you_?” Dean snorts. “Yesterday you said you were scared.”  
  
“Yes, but not because of that.” Cas takes a steadying breath, and pulls back. He doesn’t look frightened at all, actually. Just resigned. “I’m scared because we only have a few months left and I don’t want to waste them.”  
  
It’s suddenly, abruptly cold. “What, in school?”  
  
“We’ve talked about your plans for after, with college. But you’ve never asked me what my plans are.”  
  
It’s true. Dean’s never brought up because Cas never brought it up. No, that’s a lie. Dean never brought it up because that would make the possibility of Cas not coming with him real. Not that Dean thinks they’ll have this  _forever_ , but what they’ve got isn’t anywhere near enough. The fact they’re even talking about this is proof that Dean hasn’t explored every single nook and cranny about Cas that he can.  
  
“You could…” Dean swallows jerkily, trying to phrase the request in a way that doesn’t make him sound like an asshole. “We could plan together. Find schools nearby. See what our options are.”  
  
“I don’t know if that’s for me.”  
  
“What?” A half-dozen demands clog up Dean’s throat, and he’s abruptly aware that as scared as Cas thinks he is, he ain’t got nothing on Dean. “You’re working on a countdown?”  
  
“Please don’t think of it that way,” Cas says quietly.  
  
“You’re  _counting down_  our time together?” Dean almost keels over, stomach twisting angrily around the recently-consumed lunch. “Oh Jesus fuck, Cas, that’s not right. You can’t be thinking about the future like… that…” He trails off, realizing that that’s not much better than himself, who hadn’t wanted to think about the future at all.  
  
“Let’s not argue.” Cas holds Dean’s wrist, a subtle pressure to still Dean’s urge to jump out of his skin. “We agreed to take things one day at a time, right? Let’s keep doing that.”  
  
“How?” Dean snaps. “Now that I know you’re waiting for the day I’m gonna leave you.”  
  
“Don’t put it like that,” Cas says flatly. “Dean, look. Do you want to break up now?”  
  
“No!” Dean sighs. “False. Opposite of true.”  
  
“Then let’s make good memories.” Cas’ expression softens, and he leans in to drop a kiss on Dean’s nose, forcing Dean to pretend that that didn’t just send a shiver up his spine. “Lots and lots of good memories, while we can.”  
  
“ _And_  we’re gonna talk about college,” Dean grumbles. “Or not-college, whatever.”  
  
Cas ducks his head, but Dean catches a quick flash of surprise and – something. Dean’s moving before he realizes it, hand cupping Cas’ jaw and guiding him back up because he needs to catch the answer before it goes away. Cas is blinking rapidly, something almost like panic in the way he's vibrating under Dean's hand.  
  
Then Dean thinks: of course Cas is panicked. Dean just admitted that he wants more of this than they’d ever promised each other at the start.  
  
“Bell’s going to ring,” Cas says, voice thin and tiny. “We should get back.”  
  
“Cas, do you want that, too?” Dean asks. “To think about, uh, after?”  
  
“True.” Cas sucks his lips in, as if the answer terrifies him so much he’d rather swallow it down. “Yes. Options would be nice.”  
  
Underneath their feet, the bell rings. The timing isn’t too shabby so Dean doesn’t complain, amiably helping Cas clear up their things before heading back into the building. He kinda feels like someone should wrap this up, though, declaring that everyone’s done a good job, no one acted too much of an incompetent douchebag, and maybe they can reward themselves with a couple of orgasms later.  
  
“If you’re interested,” Cas whispers as they hurry down the stairs, “after school we can, um, clean you up for uh, other things.” He beams, a quick flash of teeth that doesn’t leave Dean much time to process, and then darts away and down the hall. “See you later,” he tosses over his shoulder.  
  
Or they could do that.  
  
Dean stares after him, nervous excitement twisting in low in his stomach.


	17. More sex and feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** : Rimming.

Of all the things that Castiel’s learned about Dean recently, this one that still surprises him is that underneath all the bluster and loudness and general cockiness, Dean doesn’t deal well with praise.  
  
Well, perhaps that isn’t the right way to describe it. Castiel hasn’t had enough time to study him properly, or figure out the ways that Dean wields the elements in his arsenal – good looks, easy charm, sharp observational skills – into aggressive confidence. That gets used in public, because a popular social animal (and former captain) needs to be able to peacock on command and soak up the adoration like it’s his job.  
  
But when the doors are closed and the windows drawn, Dean goes – soft. He becomes pliant, in ways that Castiel couldn’t have pictured at all unless he’d seen it for himself.   
  
Sometimes that comes across like shyness. Such as now, when Dean’s coming out of Castiel’s bathroom, clutching a towel to his waist and muttering a flustered, “Dude, quit staring,” when Castiel enjoys the display. The command might make no sense when one thinks of all the ways they’ve explored the secret places of the other’s bodies, but today’s context is different.  
  
Castiel almost starts on another round of,  _we don’t have to do this_ , but there’s a stubborn jut to Dean’s mouth that stills that argument.  
  
“You’re very handsome,” Castiel says instead. Although Dean’s cocky smile pops up on automatic, it’s accompanied by a faint flush on his neck and slight tightening of shoulders. Castiel finds this intriguing, in the sense that he doesn’t understand the response but wants to.   
  
Castiel is confident about his body. He doesn’t think it’s all  _that_  and he does fail to take proper care of it, but he has no qualms about being seen or putting it on display. Then there’s Dean, who actually has a superior form that he shows off as is expected of him, but whenever it’s just the two of them he turns self-conscious and almost, dare Castiel say it, awkward.   
  
“How do you want me?” Dean asks gruffly.   
  
“I would like to rim you,” Castiel says. At Dean’s startled blink, he adds, “That means eating out, but at a slightly different location.”  
  
“I know what it means.” Dean’s eyes dart away, and Castiel lets him mull it over. “You enjoy that? No – wait, don’t answer. Uh, okay? If that’s your thing. Not that there’s anything wrong if that’s your thing, I—” He stops when Castiel touches his arm.  
  
“If you’re uncomfortable at any time, tell me to stop.” Castiel squeezes Dean’s arm gently, then leans in to drop a kiss to his temple. Dean’s nervous, breath coming in short; Castiel is tempted to kiss him more to help him relax, but that might distract from what Castiel’s telling him. “You might not like it, but that’s okay.”  
  
“Hey, I might like it!” Dean protests. He tosses the towel aside, just to be contrary. “C’mon, back or front or what?”  
  
“Let’s try with you on your stomach.”  
  
Earlier Dean refused Castiel’s offer to help him scrub down, but he did an excellent job on his own. Castiel helps arrange Dean forward on the bed, Dean’s head pillowed on his arms, his knees apart just enough for Castiel to sit behind him and push his ass cheeks apart comfortably.  
  
Dean’s thighs are tense. Castiel strokes them comfortingly, taking the small pleasure of running his fingers against the grain of Dean’s leg hair.  
  
Castiel would’ve liked to take his time here. Just enjoy the view, thumbs rubbing circles into the flesh of Dean’s inner thighs, Dean’s ass in the air and secret opening bared to view like every pornographic image of Castiel’s dreams. This is its own kind of beauty, but Dean’s aware of how vulnerable he is like this, and the longer Castiel waits the farther Dean will retreat in his head.   
  
“Incoming,” Castiel warns, and then kisses him. A soft peck, close to his ballsack, Castiel’s nose getting tickled when he brushes pubic hair. Another kiss, higher up, that has Dean’s thighs almost jumping under Castiel’s palms. The third kiss has his tongue coming out, flicking at the furled skin around his hole.  
  
Castiel leans back. He rests his thumb on Dean’s opening, but not pushing. “That alright?”  
  
“How about I tell you if I got a problem, okay?” Dean replies, voice muffled against his arms. “You just – just do your thing. If I got a complaint you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
“You promise?”   
  
“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Yeah, I promise.”  
  
It’s hard not to notice how easily Dean goes whenever Castiel pushes. Not just today, but every time they’ve been together. There’s something in that, and Castiel doesn’t like that it might be linked to how Dean lets himself be molded by other people, or lets himself be measured to other people’s rulers.   
  
Castiel really doesn’t want Dean to perform for him.  
  
He just wants Dean to enjoy this, if he can. So Castiel gets back on it, mouthing the skin, sucking gently, and then flattening his tongue for one long, firm lick across Dean’s opening. The muscle there quivers, Dean tightening up reflexively, so Castiel soothes him with smaller licks, following the lines at first and then going against them, mixing it up before going in and jabbing his tongue at the opening proper.  
  
“Jesus,” Dean breathes huskily.   
  
It’s an encouraging response, so Castiel keeps at it, his kisses getting sloppy and open-mouthed and filthy in the crevice of Dean’s ass. He brings a free hand up to tug at Dean’s balls, and Castiel smiles against skin when he feels Dean’s dick stiffen.  
  
There’s lubricant nearby. Castiel finds it by touch, coating his fingers even as he busies himself eating Dean out.  
  
Dean grunts, back arching subtly in an attempt to shove at Cas’ face. “Why does that feel good? Why, God, Cas, it’s – there’s something – I need—”  
  
“This?” Castiel pulls back a little, but only enough so that he can press a fingertip at Dean’s epicenter. Castiel knows what Dean means, how there’s a little catch at the rim that itches for pressure. “May I come in?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, do it.”   
  
Dean takes one finger like a champ. He’s so smooth and tight that Castiel has to close his eyes for a moment, clamping down on his own arousal because he has to be for Dean right now. He has to help Dean get used to having something inside him, because this is okay, this feels good, this is all right, there’s nothing wrong with wanting this.  
  
“Very good, Dean,” Castiel offers thickly. “You’re doing very well.”  
  
Dean makes a small sound. An acknowledgement, hopefully. His hands are clenched into fists, toes digging into the sheets as he strains to prop himself up for Castiel’s use.  
  
It’s like a dream. It doesn’t feel real to watch his finger disappear into Dean, knuckle resurfacing whenever Castiel pumps. When there’s enough give Castiel can start searching, curling the finger inside Dean and—  
  
“Oh  _fuck_.” Dean stiffens. His erection is impressive now, curling up against his stomach. “Fuck, fuck, stop.”  
  
Castiel pulls back and kisses Dean’s thigh soothingly. “Sorry, did that hurt?”  
  
“No, it’s…” Dean gasps for breath, face still hidden from Castiel. “Too much. I know that’s supposed to feel good, but that was a bit too…”  
  
“Do you want me to keep going?”  
  
“Try again, but slower?”  
  
Castiel obeys. Still just one finger but gentler, no surprises. Castiel rocks his hand against Dean, relieved when Dean starts to rock back, accepting the intrusion and rolling with it. When Dean grunts another affirmative Castiel starts searching again.   
  
“God,  _yeah_ ,” Dean groans. “Slower, yeah, like that, just like that, tease it. Harder but – but slower? Does that make sense?”  
  
Castiel has to come up on his knees behind Dean, one hand to hold Dean open while he fingers him properly. Dean needs slow but firm strokes, confidence and gentleness together. Soon enough Dean’s hissing that he can take another finger, so Castiel gives it to him.  
  
“Cas?” Dean gasps. “Cas, can I touch myself?”  
  
“What?” Castiel pauses in surprise, until Dean whines his displeasure and he resumes quickly. “Oh – of course, yes, please do.”  
  
So Dean starts jacking off with long, sure strokes that match the rhythm of the fingers moving inside him. Dean’s close, all the signs building up together – his body speeds up its rocking against Castiel’s hands, his pants get louder, his muscles squeeze down around Castiel’s fingers in the way Castiel reasons to mean he needs it harder.   
  
Dean exclaims shakily, “Gonna come, Cas.”  
  
It’s a privilege to be able to see Dean like this. Castiel drinks in every gasp, every jerk, every unintentional shiver his body makes during his release. And through it all Castiel leaves his fingers deep inside Dean, letting him squeeze them as much as he likes.  
  
Once it’s over, Castiel pulls his fingers out slowly, laving the skin around Dean’s opening before grabbing a cloth to wipe him up.  
  
With Dean’s face turned to the side, Castiel can see his expression now. Dean usually makes silly (but still handsome) faces after an orgasm, but this is the first time he’s looked distant and thoughtful. He’s probably trying to absorb this new knowledge of his body, and Castiel is wise enough not to offer any platitudes in the necessary quiet.  
  
After a while Dean clears his throat. His eyes regain their focus, settling on Castiel’s face. “Hey.”  
  
“Hello,” Castiel replies.  
  
“So.” Dean wets his dry lips. “You gonna take this or what?”  
  
“We can do that another time—”  
  
“C’mon, Cas.” Dean is audibly disappointed, which catches something unexpected in Castiel’s chest. “I want you to.” He laughs then, almost gleefully. “Hell yeah, I’m feeling pretty good right now. No better time than the present, right? Seize the day by the balls.” He adamantly flops over on to his back. “Like this. Wanna watch you.”  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“ _Cas_ ,” Dean returns. “I’m askin’ here.”  
  
Castiel has turn away for a while – good thing he has the excuse of searching for a condom and lube. Dean’s  _asking_ , and the knowledge of that rattles around Castiel’s head like an exclamation mark. That’s the whole point of everything they’ve been working on together until this point, isn’t it – they have to trust each other to say yes, to say no, to not assume, to ask outright.  
  
“Yeah, there we go.” Dean whoops when Castiel slicks himself up thoroughly. Dean’s grinning, that familiar teasing glint in his eyes when he accepts a pillow under his hips to improve the angle. “Oh yeah, Cas, you know you want a piece of this. Wait, I think I can…”  
  
Dean gets his hands under his knees and pulls his legs up to his chest. Then he laughs. “Holy shit, Cas! You should see your face right now.”  
  
“Shut up,” Castiel says weakly. If fingering Dean felt like a dream then this is an intense waking hallucination, because Castiel is actually lining up, Dean’s legs slung over Castiel’s shoulders, and Dean is heckling at him to get a fucking move on already.  
  
Castiel pushes and Dean is – tight. Of course he’s tight, he’s never done this before, he didn’t even want his ass to be played with before he suddenly decided that this was an issue. Castiel feels panic coil up inside him and freezes halfway inside Dean, eyes shut tight and body shuddering.   
  
He has to think of Dean. He could  _hurt_  Dean if he loses control, so he mustn’t.  
  
Castiel mustn’t.  
  
Dean is tight and hot and perfect. A little more and Castiel will be sheathed completely in him, but Castiel can’t risk it just yet. Castiel’s eyes are still closed, so he focuses on Dean’s breathing, which is easing up.  
  
“I’m okay,” Dean says distantly. “It’s – uh. You can move some more.”  
  
Castiel nods. He opens his eyes and watches where they’re joined together, checking the stretch of his hole and making sure there’s enough lube to keep it safe. Castiel rocks gently, following the lead of Dean’s body as it eventually gives way and lets him in.  
  
He must not think about the fact that he’s inside Dean. If Castiel lets that  _truly_  sink in, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else.   
  
Dean wants to give him this. Castiel feels elated and awful and grateful and disgusted, because Dean feels  _so good_  but he’s not even enjoying it. His gaze is on the ceiling and he’s visibly struggling to take it, jaw tight and trying to swallow the sounds he won’t let Castiel hear.   
  
“Does it hurt?” Castiel asks.  
  
“Strange,” Dean replies. “Not – not painful anymore, but weird. Alien. Keep going.”  
  
As it is, Castiel moves shallowly in and out of Dean. He’ll come eventually, but it’ll take a while. Castiel’s dreamed of being inside Dean, to make him writhe and beg and all sorts of other terrible things Dean doesn’t know how to want. It’s strange to think about this now, fantasizing about Dean while actually being  _with_  Dean.  
  
“You can move more,” Dean says. “Should be okay.”  
  
There are other things Castiel can use. He can follow the bead of sweat that trails down Dean’s neck. There are Dean’s nipples, which Castiel brushes gently since he can’t suckle them at the moment. There’s the obscene valley between Dean’s legs, unused by anyone before Castiel. _Oh._  
  
Yes, that does it, a surge of exhilaration twisting into pleasure. Castiel keeps the pace level but allows that knowledge simmer under his skin. This is uncharted territory for both of them, but Dean more that Castiel, and while Castiel would never presume to own Dean for himself, he can have this tiny, selfish part.  
  
 _This_  belongs to Castiel, and no one else.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
It’s a struggle, but Castiel manages to focus on Dean’s face. “Yeah?”  
  
“Where are you, man?” There’s more of that same, displaced disappointment. “What can I do? Is it okay?”  
  
“You’re perfect,” Castiel whispers.  
  
Dean’s smile is skeptical, and his eyes fierce and sad. “You’re hiding from me. C’mon, Cas, not with me.” His hand comes up, finding the back of Castiel’s neck and gripping tight. “Please, please don’t hide from me.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t understand. Hide what? He’s right here, joined intimately with Dean and trying his damned best not to lose it.   
  
“Cas!” Dean barks. Castiel chokes on air, going almost cross-eyed when Dean clenches around his cock. “Cas, when I say I can take it, I mean I can fucking  _take it_. I want  _you_ , but I don’t know how to make it good for you!”  
  
Castiel exhales shakily. “What?”  
  
“I want you to let go with me. I want you to be, I don’t know… free?”  
  
So. Dean doesn’t want Castiel to perform, either.  
  
“But you’re not enjoying this,” Castiel says.  
  
“I’m enjoying  _you_ , you dumbass.” Dean’s eyes are intense, unwavering. This is how he looks when he wants to kiss the hell out of Castiel, but that’s not physically possible right now. “Do you have any fucking idea how much I want to make you happy?”  
  
“But you  _know_  you already make me—”  
  
“Not enough!” Dean snaps. “Nowhere near enough. Fucking Christ, Cas, do whatever the fuck you want with me, I want it.  _All_  of it.”  
  
It’s too much. Castiel loves Dean, who retaliates by telling him a world of impossible things. Castiel’s chest might explode from the enormity of it, as foolish as that may sound from the outside.  
  
“Are you even listening?” Dean asks.  
  
“I’m listening.” Castiel nods rapidly. This is real, this is Dean being brave enough to lay it all out. Castiel takes a deep breath, and then carefully pushes one of Dean’s knees up to his chest. He’s an athlete, flexible, and still riding high on endorphins. Castiel’s thought about fucking Dean so often that he’d sometimes forget that he hasn’t.  
  
“Show me,” Dean says.  
  
Fantasy and flesh blur together when Castiel starts fucking Dean in earnest. Castiel’s spurred on by Dean’s encouraging, “go on” and “yeah” and “that’s good” ringing in Castiel’s ears. For so long Castiel convinced himself that Dean was nothing but a tough guy, arrogant and invulnerable, and the lie still leaves tracks in how Castiel looks at him today.  
  
Castiel’s been wrong about so much. He couldn’t have guessed that Dean would be with him like this, accepting every thrust and push with an intensity that shocks him. It’s hard to meet his eyes but Castiel can’t turn away either because Dean is openly enthralled with whatever he sees – he’s  _enthralled_ , fascinated, when he’s not even getting anything physical out of it – as though the reward is to watch Castiel completely lose it.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean’s chanting. “Fuck me, fuck me, come on Cas, you want it harder? I can do harder, come on,  _come on_ , come and get it!”  
  
Castiel cries out. Dean’s figured out how to squeeze in time with Castiel’s thrusts, and it’s too much. Dean is incendiary, sexy and gorgeous and swearing filth at Castiel to make him go faster.   
  
Yes, Castiel was afraid to want this. He can’t remember why now, because Dean’s yelling at him to  _take it_  and Castiel believes him with every ounce of his body. It’s freeing and terrifying, and it makes no sense that Castiel feels more vulnerable like this than when they’d done it the other way round. Maybe it’s because Dean can see how much Castiel wants to completely ruin him, wants to reshape Dean’s body for Castiel’s use, which is wrong, Dean’s so new to this, Castiel was supposed to ease him into it.  
  
“That the best you got?” Dean snarls.   
  
“Fuck!” Castiel’s hips stutter. His movements are getting more erratic but that just urges Dean on. Dean’s almost laughing now, clinging on tighter even as Castiel pounds him into the mattress. “Dean, Dean,  _Dean_.”  
  
Castiel comes like that, hips tight against Dean’s ass, cock as far deep as it’ll go. He thinks he might be sobbing, but he can’t be sure.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
Dean is petting him. Castiel comes back from the high gasping for dear life, and Dean’s petting the side of his face, fingers flicking through his hair.  
  
Then – clarity. “Oh God.” Castiel starts to pull out, but luckily remembers himself. “Dean, are you okay?”  
  
“I am peachy,” Dean says smugly. “Hey, simmer down. What, you think I can’t handle a little roughing up? This is me you’re talking about, I knock people around for fun. Well, fun and academic excellence, of course.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Worth it.” Dean nods firmly. “You’re worth it. Although my legs are kinda cramping now, a little help?”  
  
Castiel feels like a heel. Dean let him do  _that_ , and he’s nothing but good cheer when Castiel checks him over thoroughly to make sure he’s not hurt, but Castiel  _still_  wants more from him.  
  
“What is it?” Dean asks, because he’s gotten terribly observant. “Tell me.”  
  
“I want to hold you,” Castiel says weakly.  
  
“You want to make out?”  
  
“No, just.” Castiel shrugs. “Holding.” Cuddling. Because Castiel is overwhelmed and shaken and Dean could be the best grounding presence in the world.  
  
Dean’s next smile is softer. “Okay.” He’s relieved, too, Castiel realizes. This wasn’t a milestone just for him, but for Castiel as well. Castiel showed him something, but Dean showed something else in return – Dean’s greedy for whatever Castiel can give him because he wants Castiel  _that_  much.  
  
Castiel has the power to break Dean’s heart now, and he’s not sure he knows how to deal with that.


	18. John and Castiel have a chat

Castiel hasn’t spent that much time with Mary Winchester – just the occasional crossing of paths and that one nice time she’d invited him over for dinner – but along the way he’d developed the assumption that she was on their side. Or on Dean’s side, at least, as far as Castiel’s presence in his life was concerned.  
  
“Dean’s taking good care of you?” she’d asked during that aforementioned dinner, sneaking a brief interlude with Castiel while Dean and Sam cleared the dishes. “I hope he’s being a gentleman.”  
  
“He’s wonderful,” Castiel had replied, whole-heartedly, and Mary had showed off where Dean had gotten his smile from. “I’m more worried whether I’m taking good care of _him_. It can’t be easy.”  
  
Mary had replied, “Maybe he doesn’t need easy right now.”  
  
That had practically been an endorsement. At least that’s what Castiel had assumed, and everything Dean’s been telling him about his mother supported that assumption.  
  
None of that explains how Castiel got into this current situation.  
  
He’s in the Winchester house. Specifically, he’s in the Winchester kitchen, where he’s sitting at the island and holding a fork in the air like a useless fool while _John Winchester_ stares at him.  
  
Castiel doesn’t want to blame Dean’s mother for the existence of this horrifying tableau, but he sees no other explanation. He’d only come to their house to pass mock-ups of the Awareness Week materials to Sam. Mary had accosted him before he’d explained the reason for his arrival; she’d seated him at the table, pushed a plate of pie towards him and said, “I tried something new with the crust. I’d appreciate your feedback.”  
  
So instead of being an efficient GSA team member, he is instead being fed a meal, and it’s surely not coincidence that Mary floated out of the kitchen a handful of heartbeats before her husband came wandering in.  
  
Castiel’s pretty sure that John’s truck hadn’t been outside when he walked over. He does notice that kind of thing these days. Maybe it’s at the shop.  
  
So here they are. Castiel and his boyfriend’s father in the same room, and it takes a while for Castiel’s thoughts to break through the wall of panic in his head and ping John’s expression as _harassed_. As though he’d been heckled to come into the kitchen, the mug he’s holding the ostensible reason to get him in here.  
  
“Hello,” Castiel says, finally, because while he can orchestrate awkward situations like a maestro, he’s not quite clever enough to unmake them. He considers, and then discards, blurting out that this is Mary’s fault and Castiel didn’t want to intrude in his wonderful home and sit at his table and eat his food without permission. The man probably wouldn’t appreciate that at all.  
  
John is frowning at him. That is not the way someone looks at a stranger in their house, Castiel thinks. John _knows who he is_.  
  
But John can’t know who Castiel is. He and Dean have been so careful, making sure John’s at work or simply not wherever they’re going to be when they’re out on dates. Dean doesn’t talk about him to John, because John is an ominous cloud in the skies of their relationship, and Dean’s issues only become Castiel’s issues when Castiel is invited in. Dean isn’t ready to invite Castiel in. Which is all right, because Castiel isn’t ready to be invited in, either.  
  
Castiel’s cell in his back pocket but he can’t figure out a way to fish it out surreptitiously and call Dean for help. Dean should still be at practice, but once he’s informed of the situation, he might burn rubber coming to Castiel’s rescue.  
  
“Mary told me to eat this,” Castiel says. “I’m to give her feedback.”  
  
John grunts. He wanders over to the coffee machine. The motion makes him turn away from Castiel, but Castiel can tell that he’s still being watched. Studied. Scrutinized.  
  
Castiel’s not sure what he’s wearing, or what his hair looks like. The surface of the Winchester microwave is a mirror, but Castiel doesn’t dare steal a glance.  
  
Dean thinks he’s a disappointment to John. He hasn’t used those exact words, but Castiel can read the obvious in how Dean doesn’t mourn the loss of his captaincy, or the full scholarship, or the other social perks that used to be at his fingertips. Castiel is of the opinion that nothing he says can change Dean’s mind, but it still bothers him that Dean feels that way, because he is far more than all of that.  
  
Meanwhile, John makes his coffee. He might not say anything, and Castiel might not have to say anything, either.  
  
“I’m friends with your sons,” Castiel says. Plural, that’s good.  
  
“Friends,” John echoes, deliberately meaningful, and Castiel bristles. “Yes, I’m aware.”  
  
“They’re very smart,” Castiel continues. “Dean and Sam. Very capable. I’ve been to Dean’s games, he’s very good.”  
  
John finally looks at him. “You play?”  
  
“My brother did,” Castiel says. “Michael Reeves, he was captain of the football team some years ago, among other things.”  
  
“Ah, Michael.” John’s expression changes – not softening, precisely, but it loses some of its tense edges. Castiel hates that he has to use his brother’s name for currency, but he can stow his baggage for the moment because John’s looking right at him and saying, “Good player. Did us all proud during his time. So you’re not… you don’t take after him?”  
  
“No.” Castiel cuts into the pie with his fork, grateful to have something to his hands occupied. “To his great displeasure.”  
  
John almost smiles at that.  
  
“He’s still playing in college,” Castiel says. “Although I believe his ultimate goal is in politics.”  
  
John snorts. “I’d believe that. He had the face for it.”  
  
Castiel chokes on a surprised laugh. A joke, that’s good. He eats a forkful of pie, not really able to process what it tastes like, while John takes a sip of his coffee. Castiel wonders if he should offer John a seat, but this is John’s house and he can sit anywhere he wants to, and if Castiel invited him and he said no then Castiel would have to go back to wanting to crawl under the table and dying.  
  
“So,” John says, in the tones of someone who’s still being harassed, although Mary isn’t actually in the room, “you got college plans, then?”  
  
“Not at the moment,” Castiel admits. “I have family out East, I thought I’d visit them for a while. They have some family business, maybe there’s something there I can do.”  
  
“Hm.” John makes a non-committal face at his coffee. “Yeah, well, not everyone has that luxury.”  
  
“I’m aware, yes.” Castiel wants out of this town, which is another thing he has in common with all of his siblings, but unlike Michael, whose goals are high end, or Anna, who wants to see everything she’d been denied, and Gabriel, who’s on the search for fun, Castiel has no idea what he’s looking for.  
  
For the longest time Castiel had thought that his wanting to get out tied to wanting to get away from Dean, but Castiel actually _has_ Dean now, and he still wants to get away. Maybe a part of it is a desire to understand why Father is away so much. Maybe another part is some long-nurtured belief that everyone is capable of being passionate about something, and Castiel could find his something if he looked hard enough.  
  
“I might regret it,” Castiel says with a shrug. “But it’ll be my decision to regret. I’ll probably be going after graduation.”  
  
“Ah, so you’re at least sticking around for prom, then.”  
  
Castiel blinks. “I don’t know when prom is.”  
  
“What?” John’s scowling again. “What do you mean, you don’t know when prom is? It’s your senior year, aren’t you going?”  
  
“Um.”  
  
“What, my son not good enough for you?” John demands.  
  
“What?” Castiel stares. “Dean’s too good for me. I know that, you don’t need to tell me that.”  
  
“Then the hell’s the problem?”  
  
“If Dean wanted to go, I’d go,” Castiel says, trying and failing to slow down his hammering heart. “No question about it. But it’s not a matter of what _I_ want. Does Dean want to?”  
  
John starts. “Of course he does. It’s once-in-a-lifetime, and he has to be there with his team.”  
  
_But do you_ know _that_ , Castiel wants to shout. He holds his tongue, though, because he’s close to outright invading Dean’s territory here. Castiel needs to be diplomatic, even as he’s reeling at the confirmation that Dean’s been underestimating the extent of his father’s knowledge in the past couple of months.  
  
“What,” John says, “you scared of people giving you a hard time?”  
  
Castiel, not thinking clearly, shoots John a look. “ _That_ is nothing I can’t handle.”  
  
That response, at least, turns out to _not_ be a mistake. John nods a little, satisfied and maybe grudgingly impressed, though he turns away immediately after, apparently as confused by the turn of the conversation as Castiel is.  
  
“You talk to Mary,” John says gruffly. “She can hook you up with tux rental, if you need it.” And with that he’s gone, coffee held up like a shield as he makes his graceful exit.  
  
Castiel sits there for a long moment. Then he gets on finishing his pie and trying not to wheeze. Mary returns to the kitchen but Castiel’s too dumbstruck to say anything. When the world tilts, it tilts hard, and Castiel deserves a minute or sixty to bring his center of gravity back to rights.  
  
Mary and John have been talking about Dean. Mary and John have been talking about _Castiel_. This is too much information, and Castiel needs to get out of here and maybe mutually panic with Dean over the phone once he gets home.  
  
“Thank you for the pie, Mary,” Castiel says. “It was excellent as always. Though I’m not sure if I could tell the difference.”  
  
“Ah well,” Mary says, shrugging. “Anyway, you know where you can find more.”  
  
“Yes, I’ll be going now, thank you.”  
  
Castiel makes it all the way back home and collapses in bed before he realizes that he’d forgotten to pass the GSA materials to Sam.


	19. Dean asks Cas to prom

Dean reacts the way that Castiel thought he might, i.e. by reacting where Castiel can’t see. The phone call Castiel makes to Dean is brief, and he is succinct and accurate in reporting John’s words from earlier in the evening. Dean responds with a long, shocked silence, and there’s the click of him ending the call so he can panic in the privacy of his own room.   
  
Castiel tosses his phone to the pillow, just in case Dean calls before he goes to sleep.   
  
Winchester men, Sam once told Castiel, preferred not to talk about anything worth talking about, especially if it challenged the status quo within the family unit. Castiel pointed out that Sam was a Winchester man himself, to which Sam had replied: “I still have a couple of years to go, so wish me luck, okay?”  
  
Castiel is honest with himself in that he doesn’t care what John thinks. Or to be more accurate, he only cares about what John thinks as it relates to Dean’s mental or emotional well-being. Castiel’s own father long ago proved indifferent to the minute goings-on in their family; Castiel is vaguely aware that this has left flaws in his (Castiel’s) person and how he perceives authority figures, but that’s another matter entirely.  
  
If Dean wants to talk about this shifting of their world to include the fact that John knows and has known and hasn’t done anything about it, Castiel will listen. But it’s likely that he won’t, because there are private spaces that will forever remain private with Dean. That’s all right.  
  
Castiel has dozed off for a little while when his phone finally rings. He grabs it. “Hmm?”  
  
“ _Are you going to prom?_ ” Dean says. Nay, _barks_ , with a nervous urgency that has Castiel struggling to focus through his grogginess.  
  
Castiel stretches, cracking his jaw as he does. “I'll go if you go.”  
  
Dean sighs, and Castiel sleepily imagines Dean’s face contorting wildly in a physical expression of his frustration. “ _That’s not an answer. Don’t be a smart-ass._ ”  
  
“It _is_ an answer,” Castiel says. “If you want me to be go with you, I will go with you.”  
  
As far Castiel’s aware, Dean’s attended almost all of their high school events. Networking and expectations, et cetera, and Castiel tries not to bristle at the confidence with which John had said that _of course_ Dean would want to go to prom. Dean doesn’t have to strut or show-off for anyone else, not if he doesn't want to, and Castiel won't enable that.  
  
So Castiel is surprised when Dean says, almost nervously, “ _You hate those kinds of things. Social things._ ”  
  
Oh.  
  
Dean is, Castiel realizes, asking about something different. Just as he’s asked Castiel out on dates, and to the movies, and going to the carnival that one time – as though it’s Dean’s mission to fill the gaps of Castiel’s experience. It’s not the _what_ , it’s the _with who_.  
  
Castiel falls back on to the pillow, clutching at the phone. At last he says, “I like you a great deal more than I hate those things. I will go with you.”  
  
Dean’s exhalation of relief is abnormally loud, almost a burst of static through the phone’s speakers. “ _I didn’t even get to ask you,_ ” he grumps. “ _Not properly. You just said yes._ ”  
  
Castiel laughs softly, and then not-so-softly when Dean snorts in derision. “Dean!” Castiel exclaims. “Guess what? I heard that our senior prom is coming up. I wonder if anyone will ask me to go.”  
  
“ _You’re such a little shit, Cas,_ ” Dean says warmly.  
  
“But what if no one _asks_ me, Dean?” Castiel says, as earnest as he can manage. “I will be heartbroken.”  
  
“ _I’m sure someone’ll wanna take your sorry ass. You’ve only been the one time, right?_ ”  
  
“Homecoming, but that was different.” Castiel curls against the mattress, half-pretending that Dean’s there with him. “I can’t even remember why I did. Maybe Anna made me go? It’s a blur.”  
  
“ _I know it’s stupid, okay_ ,” Dean says hurriedly, almost tripping over the words. “ _I know it’s stupid, I know it doesn’t – it’s just some dumb excuse to dress up and get drunk and, and, and God, I even hate it sometimes, but it’s just—_ ”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“ _….Yeah._ ” Dean takes a deep breath. “ _So you wanna go to prom with me?_ ”  
  
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”  
  
“ _Dammit, Cas!_ ”  
  
“Yes, Dean, I’ll go with you.” Even as Castiel says it, he thinks: yes, he does want to go with Dean. He’d only ever understood the purpose of such things in the abstract, but this is a potential good memory. In fact, Castiel is of the opinion that they can _make_ it a good memory even if only out of sheer force of will, because they are who they are.   
  
“ _Okay,_ ” Dean says. Not _thank you_ , or _awesome_ , or _finally_. Dean’s still anxious, jittery, and Castiel lets him take a few deep, steadying breaths. “ _How does – how does this work? Do I get a corsage for you or what? Do we… Wait, do both of us wear tuxes?_ ”  
  
“I doubt Anna would let me borrow one of her dresses.”  
  
“ _I don’t know, man, you sure got the legs for it._ ”  
  
Castiel huffs a laugh at Dean’s quip, a blatant attempt to cover his nerves. “Dean, you don’t honestly think we’d be the first non-hetero couple to go a school-sanctioned event, do you?” Castiel smiles at Dean’s weak _um_. “Oh, you _do_. Well, I hope you’re not disappointed that you’re not breaking new ground here.”  
  
“ _I’ll live_ ,” Dean mutters.  
  
“I wouldn’t mind a corsage, though,” Castiel says. “But I will make the effort to wear a suit of some sort.”  
  
“ _Man, it’d be worthwhile just to see you do_ that.”  
  
An image falls into Castiel’s mind unbidden of Dean in black and white, crisp lines across his body, looking utterly handsome and charming and sexy. Castiel also knows that the real thing would be much, _much_ better. “Dean,” Castiel says quietly. “Are you going to sleep soon?”  
  
“ _In a while, yeah. ‘Sup? Wait, are you… are you_ touching _yourself?_ ”  
  
Castiel hums softly. “Now I am, yes.”  
  
For a beat Dean is silent as that sinks in, and then: “ _Gimme a sec. Don’t start without me, Cas. I mean it!_ ”  
  
Castiel might as well be honest with himself. He is sometimes very shallow, and at this moment he is smug as hell that he has the most handsome, kind, all-rounder _best_ guy in the whole school (town, universe) as his senior prom date.   
  
What a strange world this is.


	20. Prom night

Mom normally makes a fuss about these things, but this year she’s more subdued and subtle in how she goes about helping get Dean’s act together. She even asks about Cas, to which Dean explains that the guy has apparently ganged up with Victor in getting their suits and sundries, so they won't ruin the surprise or something.  
  
Not that Dean has _expectations_ about prom. All he’s really dealing with is the vague terror of this being the last leg of high school before having to deal with a future of new shit to figure out, and prom is the perfect little patch to bask in while they can, _goddammit_.  
  
Then there’s part where Cas hasn’t been to one with a date before.  
  
“You look very handsome,” Mom says as she pats down Dean’s tie.  
  
“Geez, _Mom_ ,” Dean protests, though he glances over her shoulder to the full-length mirror and confirms that he is, indeed, a stone-cold fox. He tugs at a couple of wayward strands of hair, only to have his hand smacked firmly. “What, I thought you liked it when I keep it neat?”  
  
Mom just shakes her head and smiles. Dean is polite enough to keep his eyes averted ‘cause she’s biting her lower lip, eyes getting a little misty and Jesus, they do _this_ every year, too. When she’s set him up to her satisfaction, she hugs him and says, “Don’t sneak out, okay. Say hi to your father before you go.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says.  
  
Dad’s in the living room watching a game, and he looks up when Dean approaches. Dean doesn’t expect much, but he suppresses a smile at Dad’s, “Your collar’s crooked. Might wanna fix that.”  
  
“Thanks.” Dean adjusts it until Dad nods. “I’ll be, uh...”  
  
“Just don’t get into trouble,” Dad says.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Dean’s a little early walking over to Cas’ place, but he figures Cas won’t mind. His palms are slightly sweaty when he rings the doorbell, and Dean just remembers not to wipe them down on the rental.  
  
There’s something good – something appropriately _satisfying_ , even – in how he feels nervous standing on Cas’ front porch. It’s just like how he’d felt nervous the couple times he’d done this in years past; same ritual, similar clothes, Dean’s excellent taste in partners meaning he’s going to have someone absolutely gorgeous hanging off his arm for the night.  
  
It’s Cas who greets him when the door opens. He’s not wearing his tux yet, and the top two buttons of his sky blue shirt aren’t done up, leaving a tantalizing patch of bare skin at the base of his neck. It takes Dean way too long to realize he’s staring, but when his eyes snap up guiltily, Cas doesn’t seem to have noticed either.  
  
Cas speaks first. “Rented.”  
  
Dean starts. “What?”  
  
“I’m just reminding myself.” Cas rolls his shoulders a little, the restless gesture making his shirt move in interesting ways over his chest. “Your clothes are rented and I cannot rend them apart with my bare hands.”  
  
Dean laughs, and Cas manages to keep his affronted scowl on for all of two seconds before he’s grinning back. “You look great.” Dean means it, and catches Cas’ wrist when he turns away. “I got the hottest date in school.”  
  
“Oh,” Cas breathes, and that’s _definitely_ an interesting flush going up his neck. “I see.”  
  
Fucking hell, this is it. Dean should really stop being surprised at how just having Cas in his space makes everything easier; he thinks he can handle anything as long as Cas is there to watch his back and let Dean watch _his_ back in return. Also it’s Prom Night, so Dean has permission to be a freaking sap.  
  
“What is…” Cas laughs when Dean opens the small box he’d brought with him. “Really?”  
  
“Don’t spare my feelings now.” Dean beams, proud of the way that Cas rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss Dean’s cheek in thank you. It’s not a corsage, because Dean wouldn’t do that, but the pin is classy and tasteful and Dean can’t help it if he likes to buy stuff for other people sometimes.  
  
“I’m going to assume that it doesn’t clash with my outfit.” Cas turns around, accepting Dean’s help slipping his jacket on. “Anna suggested I ditch the tie. What do you think?”  
  
“Keep the tie.” Dean experimentally tugs the end, looping it around his fingers and grinning at the way Cas inhales sharply. “For now anyway.”  
  
Dean had thought that Anna would still be getting ready, but turns out she’s already gone. Since she’s part of the organizing committee she’d wanted to get there early to oversee things, but sadly this means there’s no one to take their picture before they go.  
  
“There’ll be opportunities for this later,” Cas reminds him.  
  
“Not just the two of us like this.” A selfie it is, then, so Dean takes out his phone and pulls Cas close. Cas indulges him, warm and pliable in the loop of Dean’s arm, and both of them look up together at the camera Dean’s holding at a distance. Dean knows he’s making a stupid face, but no doubt Cas is doing the same. “Great, that’ll do.”  
  
Cas turns his face, the movement dragging his lips against Dean’s cheek. “Want to make out before we go?”  
  
“How’s your willpower?” Dean asks.  
  
“Reasonable.”  
  
“All righty then.”  
  
They keep it down to a handful kisses, just enough to set the mood. Dean’s hands stay cupped around Cas’ face, Cas’ fingers stay curled gently around Dean’s belt, and Dean’s kind of impressed by their shared restraint. Not that Dean wouldn’t love to shove Cas down onto the couch and peel off the packaging, but he can put that thought away for now.  
  
“Are you humming the James Bond theme?” Cas asks. His mouth is kiss-wet, shiny and irresistible.  
  
“No,” Dean says. “Okay, yes.”  
  
Cas laughs softly. “Of course.”  
  
They make it into the car, and by the time they’ve parked and Dean’s jumped out to open the door for Cas he realizes: he wasn’t exaggerating. Dean really does have the hottest date and, better yet, he wants to _show off_. It’s not even just about the clothes. Fact is, Cas’ eyes are bright and his smile downright stunning – and they’re there for _Dean_ , because Cas doesn’t give a rat’s ass about prom.  
  
“You’re going to have talk me through this,” Cas says quietly.  
  
“What, food?”  
  
“Not that…” Cas moves his hand a little, and they’re walking close enough side-by-side that the motion brushes his fingers against Dean’s wrist. “We’re on school grounds. Do the usual rules apply tonight?”  
  
“You know what? I have no idea,” Dean says honestly. “What do you want to do?”  
  
Cas regards him thoughtfully, and then takes Dean’s arm, hand resting gently around his bicep. “That okay?”  
  
Dean nods. “Yep. Fine by me.”  
  
Inside, the hall’s already jumping. The main lights are dimmed, the chatter loud and the music even louder. Prom’s always a freaking circus, but this time it’s a freaking circus where Dean can stay by Cas’ side, and they talk about the decorations, the food, the choice of music, the unusual coupling choices that tend to get formed this time of year. A couple of people say hi and share small talk as they go – Pamela pats both of them on the chest appreciatively, Isaac is morose for some reason and gives everyone hugs, Jody is on the lookout for alcohol (no, Cas did not bring any), et cetera.  
  
Jo is on duty tonight, so she’s armed with a camera when she finds them. Dean sees Cas look at him for confirmation, and then they’re leaning against each other, Dean arm around Cas’ waist.  
  
“Looking good, gentlemen.” Jo snaps her picture and gives them a thumbs up. “You hanging by the wall for any reason I should know about?”  
  
“Best view,” Dean says.  
  
“For everyone else,” Cas adds, which makes Dean laugh and Jo roll her eyes.  
  
There’s dancing and a couple of speeches, during which Dean drags Cas to a table near the back since they don’t mind not having a good view of the stage. Bela is crowned Prom Queen, while Victor is Prom King, which apparently he hadn’t been expecting because Dean’s never seen him wear as terrible a poker face as he has on tonight.  
  
“That might’ve been you,” Cas observes.  
  
Dean snickers at Victor’s scowl when he offers Bela his arm. “No thanks. Victor’s rocking that crown pretty good himself.”  
  
“Mm, yes, I agree. He’s quite fetching.”  
  
“Fetching?” Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas. “You think Victor’s hot?”  
  
“He _is_ hot.”  
  
“Is he hotter than me?”  
  
Cas grins at him. “How long may I contemplate my answer?”  
  
Dean groans. They’re sitting close enough that it’s easy for Dean to lean over and press his face against Cas’ shoulder. Cas’ cologne is pretty nice, and he pats Dean on the back while Dean grumbles, “That’s mean.”  
  
“Does it really make a difference who’s hotter?” Cas asks. “You’re the one who gets to put your dick in my mouth.”  
  
Dean chokes. A glance up at Cas’ coy smile is enough to tip Dean over into laughing helplessly. Cas vibrates with his own responding laughter, and then there’s a brief but familiar press of Cas’ mouth against Dean’s temple. Somewhere in the background Principal Moseley is finishing up the announcements on this year’s King and Queen, and the music comes back on, slower this time.  
  
There’s a spotlight on the dance floor, focused on where Victor is leading Bela in a slow circle. Other couples join in around them, pairs upon pairs of bodies moving together. Dean remembers this part, with all its awkwardness and intimacy, and is struck by the fact that he’s run out of fucks to give about anything else than the fact that Cas is with him, toying with his hair and humming softly along with the music.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says. “Want to dance?”  
  
It takes a moment for Cas to answer. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable out there.”  
  
“Okay.” Dean shifts a little, not wanting to move away from Cas’ firm shoulder. “How about there? Behind the banners?”  
  
Cas turns, spotting the corner that Dean’s referring to. “All right.”  
  
Can’t go to prom without hitting the dance floor at least once, right? Well, Dean doesn’t actually believe that, but tonight’s a special occasion. He and Cas are rock stars in suits and they’re going to fucking dance in a fucking corner of the hall if that’s what they want. It’s a cozy corner, too, just slightly hidden by banners and decoration. Singer is one the chaperones tonight, and he gives Dean a quick warning look that Dean acknowledges with a small salute; no hanky panky tonight, sir, yes, we promise, just dancing.  
  
“How do you…” Cas frowns uncertainly. “How does this…”  
  
“Here.” It’s strange at first, their clothes bulky and getting in the way. They figure out that by unbuttoning their jackets, hands can go inside like an interlocking jigsaw puzzle, kind of, and that works. Dean has a hand on Cas’ waist, the other on his back, and he draws him close enough that they’re almost cheek-to-cheek. This way is just right for Dean to briefly nuzzle Cas’ ear, and then guide their movements into a gentle swaying motion that follows the music.  
  
Cas’ breath is cool against Dean’s neck. After a while he relaxes, head tipping a little to rest against Dean’s. He is warm and solid, the proximity of him leaving Dean’s whole body buzzing – but not with arousal as he knows it, because there’s no urge to drag Cas off somewhere. _This_ is the thrill and the endgame – Cas’ awkward shuffling of feet and all – and Dean just wants to bottle up this moment so he can take all his time in figuring out what it is.  
  
“So…” Cas says slowly. “This is cuddling, but standing up.”  
  
“Is not,” Dean protests. “There’s less clothes when we cuddle.”  
  
Cas shakes in amusement. “This is nice, Dean.”  
  
The song tapers off, to be replaced by a new one that’s as slow and easy as the first. There’s no reason to stop yet, so they don’t, and Dean experimentally tries dipping Cas, which fails miserably save the part where Cas flails and bursts out laughing. There’s other voices and laughter elsewhere, but that’s far away, irrelevant.  
  
“Dean, I want to…” Cas turns a little, and Dean’s barely registered the movement before Cas is planting a solid one on him, close-mouthed and urgent, like he had to do that right at that exact moment before he lost his nerve. Then Cas is back to snuggling against him, face in Dean’s neck, and they’re so fucking _disgusting_.  
  
“Okay then,” Dean says dumbly. “There’s a party later. You wanna go?”  
  
“My house will be empty tonight,” Cas replies. “Anna is staying at a friend’s.”  
  
Dean’s mouth goes dry. “You sure?”  
  
“She told me herself. Along with the instruction to clean up any mess we make.”  
  
“Jesus.” Dean lifts a hand, dragging a fingertip along the hairline at Cas’ neck. Zero to sixty, just like that, and Dean’s already thinking of the many possible surfaces in Cas’ house he may unwrap tonight’s present. “Damn it, Cas,” he hisses.  
  
“Shhh,” Cas murmurs. “One more song.”  
  
“Can I use your tie?” Dean asks. “Is it yours? Can I tie you up with it?”  
  
Cas stiffens. “Fie upon you, Dean Winchester.”  
  
“What goes around, buddy.”  
  
“But I like this,” Cas says stubbornly, voice muffled where he’s refused to move away from Dean’s neck. “I didn’t expect to, but I do.”  
  
The admission is soft and earnest, but it sends an unexpected shiver up Dean’s spine. “Story of our lives, ain’t it?” Dean says quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Cas agrees. He smiles against Dean’s neck, and his hands tighten their hold, upgrading it to what’s clearly now a hug. “Yes, funny.”  
  
Eventually the song winds down, the guitar riffs trailing off with the final chorus. Cas knows it’s ending, too, because he shifts in Dean’s arms, just enough that they ending up doing that thing where they’re standing so close that the other person is an unfocused almost-blur at the end of their nose. Cas’ eyes are half-lidded, but he’s not moving any closer, the kiss hovering and unclaimed between them.  
  
Dean cups the back of Cas’ head. Right now, in this moment, he is completely unafraid. There’s no reason to be, because sometimes the world is generous with its gifts, and Dean will hold on to this one for as long as he can.  
  
“Thanks for everything, Cas.” The fuck, Dean Winchester, _smooth_. “I mean… uh…”  
  
But Cas just smiles. “I know. You’re welcome.”


End file.
